


Corrupted Hero

by SAMorley



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Gen, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Possession, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 186,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SAMorley/pseuds/SAMorley
Summary: In the throes of war, Calamity Ganon pierced Link, striking him down. The Princess swiftly sealed Link away, but unbeknownst to everyone, he had been infected with Malice. For one hundred years it festered inside of him, transforming him into something less than Hylian. Though on the outside a monster, a hero lies within, and in spite of his trials, he will rise to right the wrongs of Hyrule.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 314
Kudos: 195





	1. False Dawn

The stagnant haze of a century clouded the humid air of the Shrine. Painted a soft blue from the reverent glow of the resurrection pedestal at the heart of the room, the haze hung, silently, around the dormant form of a young Hylian laid across the pedestal. Sealed away from the world above, the Shrine hummed to itself in silence, as still as the Hylian it cradled. Forgotten by time and memory and ash, both the Hylian and the Shrine listened, awaiting the voice they had heard, every day, for one hundred years.

She was late today. Her calls had grown later and later, recently. But the Shrine knew she had a reason. Its patience could withstand the delay; time had always been its friend.

Though initially absent, she finally appeared from out of the darkness. She breathed her usual appeal just as intently and urgently as she had when the fields of Hyrule raged with flames.

_Wake up, Link…_ she plead, faithful as always.

Her voice reached across a vast expanse, seeping through the Shrine’s walls and drifting toward the Hylian. Gently, it pushed through the thick, ancient mist enshrouding the pedestal and sunk through the murky lake preserving him, whispering its way into his mind, straining to inspire some form of life within him.

She paused, half-expecting something to happen. Her ears strained to hear anything — any movement, any sound. Anything. Yet in spite of her efforts, he remained stiff as death. Her throat tightened.

_Open your eyes,_ she mourned, a pang of sorrow wilting her voice. _Please!_

Only silence.

_...I need you..._

Nothing.

Crestfallen, she withdrew for a moment, choking back helpless tears. They stung at her eyes as if in punishment for her naught hopes.

She believed he would have woken up by now — now, more than ever — perhaps on this, the hundredth anniversary of his slumber. But why did he not wake? What was she doing wrong?

For an agonizing, almost eternal century in isolation, she had prayed and struggled and cried to awaken him, to bring him back to the world, to get his help that she so desperately needed. But as the years bled together without him, her hope had withered in the shadows, craving the light. Craving _him._ Buried in darkness and Malice, she had grown weary, almost wishing to join him in his sleep. She had teased the thought many times, but found herself too afraid of what may happen to drift off unawares. She had fought too hard to let go now.

Each time she had called to him, the Shrine had replied with a crushing, mute, _Not yet._ Each denial was nothing less than a strike to the heart, a hundred times over.

She wasn’t ready to give up on him, but just how soon was _yet?_ There had been no respite for her. Day in and day out, staunchly holding back a demon voracious for destruction, all while reaching out to a fallen hero. _Her_ fallen hero. 

But just as before, she had nothing to show for it. 

She wasn’t sure how much more loneliness she could endure, and how much more silence she could bear.

But to her fortune, this silence was soon broken.

With her latest prayers on deaf ears, she was about to retreat back into her mind when, without so much as a warning, the Shrine gave a sudden shudder. The movement stirred the mounds of dust clinging to the corners into clouds. A deep, resounding thud rumbled through the stone of the Shrine, sending a ripple through the water submerging the Hylian as dust motes danced through the startled air.

The girl felt the tremor even from her high, polluted pavilion — it thundered through her mind with a mighty quake that brought her attention immediately back to him and his dull brainwaves. She poised herself, acutely alert, but her guard drawn.

_Is it time?_ she wondered, her hope rising from the dust. 

Though unable to watch what was happening in the Shrine with her own eyes, she experienced the great row of the structure within herself in sync with it. Beginning modestly, it grew more and more intense by the second, almost as if the Shrine were ripping itself apart with a calamitous bellow from deep within the earth.

From seemingly nowhere, a bud of nausea blossomed inside her, her head swimming with a dizzying heat. Puzzled, she endeavored to comprehend it. The Shrine of Resurrection, it seemed to have become… sick. It was the only explanation she could fathom. But machines, medical facilities, couldn’t suffer infirmity.

What was happening? She hadn’t the faintest idea. None of her research had told of this reaction. Concerned, she continued to monitor the strange occurrence. 

This supposed sickness began to spread. Around the slumbering Hylian, the decorative beads of light on the walls flickered from a serene blue to a panicked magenta color, flashing in-between wildly as the Shrine continued to shake. Such intense movements kicked up a blizzard of dust and rocked the surface, trees swaying above ground, boulders shifting and fauna scattering. The terrific reverberations found their way to her; the familiar trembling of the earth brought back scarring memories.

In spite of the chaos, the Hylian remained obliviously unconscious on the pedestal. The crystalline-blue water around him abruptly darkened to a vibrant scarlet, bubbling and writhing as if in a storm. The light glaring off of the water and the frantic wall embellishments cast the room in a violent, ethereal glow such that the Shrine had never seen. The flailing of the Shrine only worsened as an alarm began to blare from a device on the solitary pedestal at the opposite corner of the Hylian, clamoring for attention, wailing in fear and shock.

_Something’s wrong,_ she gasped.

The girl’s body ached in tune with the Shrine. Amidst her pain, she paused and gazed around her, finding her own surroundings alight with a vicious glare. Her warden shifted restlessly, pulsating with power, its influence dripping from the ceiling and snaking beneath the overgrown lands of Hyrule, where it ingrained its corrupt claws into the Shrine of Resurrection, and in turn, into the Hylian. 

She realized with a stab of horror that, in her grief, the creature had wormed through a careless opening she had made, greedily spreading its poison. It was doing something to him. Something twisted. Something awful. And yet he laid, like a corpse, in the grave that was consuming him.

She had to stop it. She had to wake him.

_Calamity Ganon?!_ she gaped. _No! You can’t do this! Don’t you touch him! No, NO!_

Had she the capacity, she would have darted free from her bonds, rushing for him. But she could not abandon her post. There was nothing another barrier could fix, now — it was already inside the Shrine. All she could do was scream. She whirled her mind back to him.

_Link! Link, you must wake up!_

But he didn’t stir. The beast seemed to thrill with satisfaction at her skyrocketing panic. 

_Stop it, stop it, you MONSTER! LINK!_

No matter her cries, he didn’t hear. Or perhaps Calamity Ganon had deafened him? Regardless, there was nothing she could do but listen as the Shrine nearly rent itself into rubble. The alarm from the pedestal filled her mind to splitting, an evil light blinding her, crippling her efforts to stay the beast’s clutches. Pain lanced through her brain — she cupped her hands over her ears and pinched her eyes shut, but to no avail.

Petrified at the thought of losing her dear knight after all these years, and at her own misstep, she braced for the worst, her breath caught and her eyes welling with tears. 

_Link, Hyrule… forgive me… I’ve failed you. I knew I would… Father was right._

With its princess weak, the beast didn’t hesitate. It greedily dug its way further into the Shrine. The blood red water surrounding Link ceased seething for half a moment before it abruptly surged into his body, piercing his pores, pouring inside him through his nose and mouth. As the dark water saturated his lungs and bloodstream, his spine arched and his eyes snapped open, his heart giving a heavy _thump_ as it jolted back into autonomy.

Beneath his revitalized body, the resurrection pedestal cracked into pieces with a tremendous boom, scattering shards of aged stone onto the floor.

Then all at once, the Shrine’s roars and rumbling stilled, as well as the beast’s.

The chamber fell ungodly quiet, apart from its sole occupant; he gulped in a centuries-starved gasp of air, only to immediately choke on both it and the water flooding down his throat. 

Rolling onto his side, he coughed up the bright red liquid in his lungs — it ran in small rivers onto the floor. His hacking shredded the once-peaceful atmosphere as he clawed for breath, continuing to spit up excess water for several moments before he managed to claim some control over himself.

He finally fell limp, his body relaxing from the shock. Draped like a sacrifice atop the broken pedestal, he savored his breath, shivering in the warm, moist air clinging to his skin. When his lungs had soothed themselves, he opened his heavy eyes and drew his gaze across the room, groggily wondering where he was.

The small, dim chamber was as full of clouds as his head. Unfamiliar, strange. His empty mind spun with dazed confusion. As the fire in his body steadily cooled, he blinked against the throbbing magenta light igniting the dust and haze swirling around him. The light issuing from the walls seemed to follow the gradually-slowing rhythm of his heart.

Curious, he carefully eased himself upright.

He rotated his head, analyzing his somber surroundings. The only other objects nearby were the lonely pedestal in the corner, a sealed doorway, the shattered pedestal beneath him, and an odd, chandelier-like structure looming over his head. It, too, radiated an unnatural, crimson light.

As he ran his eyes over the remains of the pedestal, he sucked in a sharp gasp, flinching where he sat. 

His legs — they didn’t look right. 

Upon waking up, he had no reason to believe they were anything abnormal, what with his nonexistent recollection of things. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was _extremely_ wrong.

Frozen at the sight before him, he found that he could quite literally see his bones — his femur, the tibia, even the knee cap — glowing with that same surreal, magenta light. They glittered up at him beneath black, semi-transparent skin.

Eyes widening, he raised a knee and wiggled his leg back and forth, baffled. His bones floated innocently in his leg, moving at his command. Running a palm over his knee, he stared. It certainly didn’t look right, but it didn’t feel _wrong._ It felt as normal as anything.

Beginning to stutter for breath, he repeated the action with his equally-transparent, bony hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers before his face. The movements of his claw-like fingertips disturbingly entranced him with such intensity that he almost didn’t hear the voice return to him.

_...Link…?_ she asked, breathless.

Her voice has trickled into his mind softly, yet he heard it clear as day. As if stricken by lightning, he jumped in his place, tossing his head around the room in search of the voice’s owner. But he found nothing but the wordless haze.

“H-hello?” he croaked, his voice ragged. “Who’s there?”

At last. At long, tiresome last. He was here. He was awake. Movement. Beating heart and running blood and breath in the lungs. A voice. Life.

Link. Wonderful, irreplaceable Link. And he seemed to be in one piece, though she was blissfully ignorant of his bizarre bones, as well as the rest of his appearance. She could only feel his strong, courageous presence, and it was like manna to her.

Her joy at just the sound of his voice was immeasurable — it swelled within her, a sunrise after a bitter winter’s night, thawing her icy hopes and setting her heart alight with a golden dawn. She had no control over the tears of sweet relief that streamed down her face then, but she didn’t even attempt it. All that mattered was that he had risen from the Shrine. He was here. All she had to do now was guide him to her.

But her delight was cruelly short-lived. She didn’t get the chance to welcome him any further, for her warden reared its ugly head once again, howling at her. Bleary from her tears, she turned just in time to throw another barrier up between the two of them, only to buckle at the knees beneath the beast’s power.

Like a ravenous wolf for a fresh kill, the beast pounced upon her barrier, baring its teeth with hate and clawing at its prison. Straining to keep it at bay, she took in its sudden energy spike with awe. It seemed to have taken a new fondness for Link as it mindlessly scratched and roared to bypass her and seize him. Perhaps it wanted to finish what it had attempted those hundred years ago, now that he was awake?

But she wouldn’t let it. No matter how much it yearned to. She had just gotten him back.

Calamity Ganon’s rampaging soon grew relentless — her strength withstood it, but it took every ounce of herself to hold it back. She realized with dismay that even if she had wanted to, it would have been impossible to divide her mind between containing the beast and guiding Link. The monster wouldn’t allow it.

It was one or the other.

_Curse you!!!_ she cried, closing a fist against the beast. _You vile creature! How could you?!_

It didn’t seem to care; it ceaselessly pounded against her barrier, wicked eyes set on Link, eager to devour him.

There was no alternative. The thought destroyed her, but she knew which she had to choose. It was her duty, after all.

A new set of bittersweet tears ran down her cheeks. Though it nearly tore her to pieces to withhold herself from him, she stepped back from the Shrine to ward off Ganon’s might. But she vowed, whenever she managed to calm Calamity Ganon, to catch up with her dear knight, guiding him and ensuring his safe return to her. She couldn’t be at his side at every moment. But he was strong enough to journey back to her on his own. She knew that.

Beneath the crushing influence of the beast, all she could offer him was this:

_Link,_ she began. His ears perked up. _You may or may not know me, but know this: you must rise from that Shrine. Find the Sheikah Slate. It will guide you after your long slumber._

Link, listening to her with wonder, found his eyes drawn to the pedestal in the corner, which had sprung to life. He stared at it, his thoughts radiant with her voice. A barrage of questions hung on his tongue, but her tone was so earnest, so captivating, that he remained silent.

She continued, _Do not fear what you will face in Hyrule, though trials you will endure — I know you can triumph over whatever will come with the courage flowing through your veins. Link… you are the light — our light — that must shine upon Hyrule once again. We need you._

Her heart stuttered as she prepared to withdraw.

_I need you. And I believe in you._

_May the Goddess smile upon you._

Just as quickly as she had appeared in his mind, she abruptly vanished, leaving Link stupefied, his bones rattling inside him.

When he regained his senses, he sprung up on the crooked pieces of the pedestal, crying, “Wait! Who are you?!”

But she had already gone.

He quaked in the new silence, the pounding of his head his only companion. Her presence lingered with him, a mute ghost in the room. There was something warm and calming about her sweet, imploring voice — it sent a familiar shudder down his spine. But as much as he strained his mind, he couldn’t place where he knew her from.

The memory of her hovered in the back of his head, tickling his brain to remember — it was an itch he just couldn’t scratch.

Waking up in such a strange place, with no recollection of what had lead him there, only made his hunger for information grow. And her mysterious presence, not to mention her words, nearly drove him mad in the minutes he sat alone. What did it all mean? Her voice, her guidance, his bizarre bones. He didn’t have any answers that he craved....

But she would.

He had to find out who she was. It was time to move.


	2. Slated for Release

Link sat for a moment alongside the silence that the voice left him with. Had it the capacity to speak, he would have asked for its advice.

He wasn’t sure how he was to proceed, beginning to grow worried in the smoggy, crimson half-light. He knew the voice had instructed him to leave, but as far as he could tell, there was no conceivable way out of the room. No windows, no doors, no locks. The only doorway visible was blocked tight by a wall of pillars, but even then, they didn’t appear to be budging anytime soon. It appeared that he was sealed inside.

Squinting at the pillars, he ran his gaze over them, hoping to find a gap or a crack to somehow exploit, but he ultimately found nothing. Distracted for a moment, he traced his eyes along the peculiar embellishments ingrained within the pillars, enthralled at their intricacy, curious about their meaning.

One in particular, however, made him uneasy — at the pillars’ center, a large, ornate, unblinking eye hovered, shedding a single tear. His skin prickled, as though the carving was watching him, waiting on his next move. He was afraid it might blink at him while he exchanged mute stares with it.

He didn’t linger on the eye any longer than he had to, instead bringing his thoughts toward his situation again. The ancient air flowing in and out of his lungs felt more and more suffocating with each breath — but perhaps that was all in his head. Regardless, he needed to find a way out quickly. He wanted answers, and he knew he wouldn’t get any of them just sitting there. He needed to take a closer look around.

Steadying himself on a solid chunk of the pedestal, he slid his legs off and set his bare feet on the cold, smooth stone floor. While he took note of his rather meager clothing — a simple pair of shorts adorned with a few weathered leather belts — he outright ignored the bizarre view of his skeletal toes shimmering up at him. They didn’t look natural at any angle; that sight would certainly take some getting used to.

The simple act of standing proved more taxing than he anticipated, however — the moment he attempted to get to his feet, his head rushed and he sunk to his knees with a gasp. Head swimming, he leaned heavily against the pedestal, twisting his eyes shut to steady a bout of nauseating vertigo that swirled his brain into soup.

Thankfully, it didn’t last. After a moment or two, the dizzying sensation raging between his ears settled, and he reopened his eyes, heaving himself up with a grunt. Once standing, he held still to balance himself before turning his sights on the reverently-glowing pedestal in the corner. Compared to the rest of the objects in the room, it seemed a good place to begin with.

It appeared to be waving him over, flashing with a pleasant blue light. The color felt out-of-place in the angry red fog around him, but that gentle blue made him feel welcome in a way, and he was drawn to it keenly. Padding forward to face the pedestal, his face scrunched as he tried to figure out if this was possibly the Slate that the girl had mentioned. Nothing about it signaled to him that it was a slate, but he nonetheless inspected it.

The pedestal’s flat surface breathed with light, nestling something rectangular at its heart. Huddling in to get a better look at it, Link gave a start when it burst with a sudden shine, slowly pushing part of its surface towards him.

He leaned back, eyes wide as he watched the pedestal perform a sort of wordless greeting to him, rotating around via hidden mechanisms that clicked against their age. When it had finished its ritual, the rectangular center of the pedestal rose from its niche, presenting an unusual device.

Link had never seen it before, and yet, there was something familiar about it.

The device captured his fascination, and he drank it in with awe. Flat on both sides, and roughly an inch thick, the device bore a gripped handle on one end, decorated with twisting patterns that burned like coals. Link watched the device flip itself over to reveal a design on the back: the familiar, disconcerting gaze of the eye with a teardrop leaking from the bottom. Its sclera radiated a shocking blue; it bore into his face, awaiting his hand.

_A slate,_ Link immediately thought, though he wasn’t sure where it came from. _The Sheikah Slate…?_

Only one way to find out. With cautious curiosity fueling his actions, he took a step forward and reached for the Slate, plucking it from the pedestal. It was moderately heavy, but manageable, appearing to be carved from the same dark stone as the Shrine. He examined it up close in both hands, turning the eye away from him and meeting a reflection in the shiny, pitch-black screen on its face.

His brows furrowed. Something strange looked back at him from the screen — a trio of harsh golden orbs in the midst of a smudgy, cream-colored complexion — everything blurry and indistinguishable.

“What?” he breathed, drawing the Slate up to his nose, trying to sharpen the image. He honestly couldn’t remember what he looked like, but that couldn’t have been his face… could it?

He gave a small, startled gasp when the device abruptly came to life in his hands, trilling out a friendly chirp. The screen alight, it displayed the eerie eye symbol for a brief second before the image stuttered and flickered. The chirping issuing from the Slate grew suddenly distorted, resembling more of a dull groan of pain than a greeting.

He gaped at its reaction, half-wondering if he had somehow broken it. Before he had the chance to consider the possibility, he spontaneously convulsed. Something had shifted inside him — a tug in his lungs stole away another gasp, redirecting it and igniting the bones beaming through his skin from a dull magenta to a violent scarlet. Astonished, he shivered in a nonexistent chill and watched as the light coursed down to his claw-like, bony fingers, shining boldly through his fingertips.

He hadn’t the faintest idea what was happening to him — perhaps it had something to do with the Slate? he wasn’t sure — but it pumped through his body with a gusto that sent his heart bucking against his ribcage. It felt… good, in a way.

As exhilarating as it was, the feeling was fleeting: to Link’s split-second horror, a grotesque, twisting mass of sludgy, tangible shadows spawned from out of his hands and attacked the device. A scream ripped out of his throat, shattering the peaceful air. Jolting back, he nearly threw the Slate away from him, but his fingers had locked around it without his control. He shook the device back and forth, but his grip refused to relent.

Helpless, he stared as the grim mire continued to gush from his palms — it bit at his skin with a scalding touch, spreading across the Slate, seeping through hidden seams beneath the ornamental designs. The shadows greedily polluted it, both to his and its panic. The Slate blared a kaleidoscope of light in a frenzy, screeching beneath his grasp and the darkness forcing its way inside of it.

Throughout the ordeal, the solitary eye on the Slate’s screen kept a vigilant watch on Link, despite its rapid color-change from blue to a deep scarlet. The tear dripping from it seemed to have meaning, now.

As he watched the device’s blue accents plunge into red, he couldn’t help but feel like the Slate was speaking to him.

_Help._

The gaze of the eye pierced him to his core. Shaking, he continued to thrash against his inexplicable death grip on the Slate, until miraculously, he managed to let go. The Slate flew from his hands, spewing sludgy shadows into the air before clattering across the floor and landing with crash against the sealed doorway.

Through ragged breath, he gawked at the Slate, speechless. He slowly brought his eyes into his palms. The sludge was nowhere to be found on his skin; even with the uncontrollable quivering of his hands, he found the light from his bones growing fainter until it settled back to a quiet, magenta glow. He strained to normalize his breathing, all while wracking his brain to figure out exactly what had transpired.

It was almost as if he had infected the Slate. Made it sick. But… with what? Was there something wrong with him?

He had a feeling that was the case, though he couldn’t fathom what it was. It made his stomach writhe just thinking about it.

Link’s muscles seized up when the floor rocked steeply beneath him, the tremor sending sheets of dust trickling down onto him from the ceiling. His attention was quickly wrenched toward the pillars jammed into the doorway as the gritty grinding of stone met his ears. With a shred of hope brightening his murky mind, he watched the pillars gradually retreat from view into the doorway, revealing an anterior room beyond.

He blinked, amazed. A way out! He could hardly believe it. Eager to escape the confines of the stuffy room, as well as the questions that lingered there, he hurried forward to the open doorway, only to bump his toe on something.

The Sheikah Slate.

His eyes fell on it, effervescing with a new crimson light at his feet. Part of him feared what he had witnessed from it, while the other reminded him of the girl’s words.

_Find the Sheikah Slate. It will guide you._

He hesitated, wary of possibly ‘hurting’ it again. But how could he harm a machine? It made no logical sense. Biting his lip, he eventually bent down, grabbing it by the handle and looking it over. Apart from the change of color, it appeared undamaged and virtually unchanged; the eye still remained, unblinking, in the center of the screen — no sludge in sight.

The memory of whatever-it-was that had issued from his hands still haunted him. He didn’t like the thought of carrying it around — if it was truly inside the Slate. What was it, exactly? And why had it attacked the Slate? Would it somehow break free? What damage could a radical entity like that cause?

Frozen in his spot, he exchanged another stare with the eye for half of a second before a reassuring nudge from nowhere converted his ambivalence. He had the Sheikah Slate, just as the girl had said. He needed it to guide him, and he definitely needed all the guidance he could get. As far as he knew, regardless of the strange sludge, it had freed him from the sealed room, bringing in…

Link had been so engrossed in his unrest for the Slate that he hadn’t noticed that he was squinting. His eyes rose from the Slate and out the open doorway, where they stung against a shaft of light — pure, warm, summer sunlight — that had shot through the thick haze of the Shrine.

The light stole his breath, dropping his jaw. Something came over him, then, gently sweeping through his body and numbing him. He couldn’t seem to blink, his eyes drinking in every second of golden sunlight they could possibly take, like he was starved for it. He had no idea it had been one hundred years since he had seen natural light. Almost as if he were being pulled in by a sunshine riptide, he secured the Slate on a hook on his belt and shuffled forward.

While even the brief exposure he had to the new light warmed his skin and thawed his fears, it seemed to take its time warming up his mind. He was so eager to escape the dark Shrine that he utterly failed to see the object in his path until he was tumbling over it. Cracking his shins against it, his nose and elbows plunged into the floor with painful thuds, the object knocking the wind out of him.

Had he not been so startled, he definitely would have felt embarrassed, but fortunately for his pride, there was no one around. Taking in a wheezy breath, he craned his neck around to catch a glimpse of what he’d tripped on.

Link found himself draped over a lonely chest placed in the middle of the path out of the hazy room. His brows knit together, angry questions flitting through his mind. Who would leave something like this lying out for no reason? What was its purpose?

Gritting his teeth, he eased himself off of it and came around to its front, his nose and shins throbbing. Interestingly enough, the chest lacked a lock.

His curiosity eventually overpowered his annoyance, causing him to stoop down and lift the lid. What he found inside took the glower out of his face, replacing it with surprise. It wasn’t anything astounding, only a set of thin, threadbare clothes, neatly folded beside a pair of tattered shoes.

A small smile found his lips. These clothes were better than nothing — especially considering all he had on his person was the Slate and his shorts.

_How kind,_ he thought.

Link wasted no time slipping into the clothes. While at first a boon, he soon saw they weren’t perfect. The pants were surprisingly comfortable in spite of their looks, if not shorter than anticipated, reaching about midway down his shins. The shirt strained against his muscles, coming apart at the seams. He prayed they would hold as he moved around.

Thankfully, the shoes weren’t as hopeless as they initially appeared; at least he wouldn’t walk out of the Shrine barefoot. Though tighter than he would have liked, the clothes hid a decent amount of his bizarre bones from view. For that, he was especially grateful to whomever had left them there for him.

Now more prepared to leave the Shrine, he quickly left the chest behind, descended a small ramp, and hurried through a colossal, yawning archway guarding a flight of dust-coated stairs. As he climbed, dust motes fluttered by him in the brilliant light pouring through an opening ahead, igniting his pulse and spurring him forward. His breath heightened the nearer he approached the exit. As the light from outside tingled his skin, it burned his eyes, concealing what lay beyond, almost like it was teasing him. But it only made him yearn for the outside even more.

As he climbed, he couldn’t explain what he was feeling, but… he felt alive, somehow. Like he was rising from a grave, crawling out of a prison, greeting the world for the first time. Each breath he took only energized his blood — it careened through his veins like lightning, sending jitters up his spine. The sensation was nothing short of exhilarating.

A wide, involuntary grin bore his teeth. He couldn’t wait for his vision to adjust. He practically sprinted out of the Shrine and into the light.

The snapping of his shoes against stone was abruptly replaced by the delightful, soft _crunch_ of grass beneath his feet. Grass! What a spectacle! The sound tickled his ears as his legs carried him forward, his eyes finally adjusting to reveal the splendor of the outside world. Undeterred by the adjustment, he quickly set to work taking in everything around him with the tenacity of a lovestruck fanatic.

His eyes flicked about to the waist-high grass whistling in his wake, then to the conifers swaying in the morning wind. He was entranced by their vibrant colors; such gorgeous greens and browns — he felt he had never seen them before. His ears pricked at the sweet warbling of the birds in the boughs, as well as the crickets chirping in the grass, greeting their new stranger. He filled his lungs with the scent of the woods, of tree bark, fresh-dewed grass and mud, of robust pine needles. The crisp breeze brushing against his cheek gave him goosebumps.

Enraptured by the wild, he continued forward, desperate for more. But it was only when he caught a glance of what lay beyond the small glade did he stop dead in his tracks at the crest of a cliff.

The sight made him weak in the knees. A sea of treetops stretched beneath him, underscoring sprawling, rugged cliffsides and rolling hills spreading miles beyond his line of sight. Soft golden sunlight bathed the world in rich greens and painted the distant waves of mountain ranges in slated blues. The wild landscape was breathtaking in its own right, but it only served to frame two distant objects dominating the horizon: a smoke-spewing volcano dripping with glowing veins of magma, and the black, jagged silhouette of a castle, its rugged spires raking the sky.

Gasping from both his sprint and the world before him, Link stood, humbled, in his place, his eyes struggling in disbelief. Out of everything he was seeing, he found himself almost hypnotized by the castle, something tugging at his brain; the castle was a black mark on an otherwise lush landscape, and it seemed to be calling to him. He couldn’t pull his eyes from it.

While under its spell, he nearly took a step toward it before a lurch in his gut quickly reminded him that he was standing at the edge of a cliff. Judging from the brief glance he stole over the edge, and the steep drop down, he decided he would admire the castle from a distance. He’d rather not shatter his legs moments after leaving the Shrine.

Now that his heart and breathing were settling down, he found his eyes wandering, and he managed to pull away from the castle’s lure. He wet his mouth, dried from his gaping, and drew his gaze across the skyline. The glow of the dawning sun beamed between a pair of twin peaks far into the distance, shining through the split separating them. He lingered on their intriguing formation for a moment, as his eyes were quickly tugged to a structure nearby: the pointed steeple of what looked like a church, just down the hill.

It stood out, grey and dark, amidst the overgrowth it loomed over. Just as the castle before it, he felt something beckoning to him when he laid eyes on it. As much as he was inexplicably desperate to visit the castle, the church was closer. Curiosity gnawed at him. He had to investigate.

Perhaps he might find some answers there?

But before he had the chance to make his way over, Link froze, finding himself seized by an uncanny itch: he felt a pair of eyes trained on him from somewhere. A hidden instinct inside him sprung into action, sending his gaze in search of whoever was watching him.

It didn’t take him long to find his silent spectator.

Far below, at the base of the sloping cliff, stood a tall figure. For a moment or two, the both of them exchanged glances before the figure broke gaze, turning and walking toward a hollow, rocky knoll. Link watched the figure seat itself beside a glowing campfire, where it remained. It didn’t acknowledge him any further.

Link hesitated making his approach. Part of him worried about the intentions of the stranger, but the other wanted to make at least some sense of where he was and what had happened to him. The voice from before couldn’t slake his curiosity.

Maybe this stranger could be of some help?

There was only one way to find out. Link smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes and began walking down the hill.


	3. A Black Look

As Link approached the figure seated by the fire, he couldn’t help himself from analyzing them. The action was almost involuntary, and he fed his gaze on every scrap of detail he could grasp of them while he made his way over. Without speaking a word, he got to know them in the span of a few seconds.

The figure belonged to an old man. A hood concealed most of his face, but Link nevertheless took notice of his broad, sun-browned nose and the snowy beard cascading down the front of his overcoat. Though he was seated, Link could tell he was a rather large man in both stature and from his stocky frame, with layers of dark, heavy clothing bundled tight around his body. He sat amongst a slew of his belongings: a basket of freshly-picked apples, a torch with some flint, and a walking stick he had balanced across his lap.

Happy as he was to see another human being, Link found the man’s surplus of clothing strange, as the morning air was cool, gentle, and pleasant; he appeared to be an outdoorsman, so why would he feel the need to bundle up so? Link thought that perhaps the man was trying to hide something. But what? And from whom? As far as Link knew, there was nobody else around but them.

He then began to question the old man’s presence. Just what was a man of his age doing out here by himself? He supposed he’d find out shortly.

The old man sat hunched before the crackling fire, gazing mutely into the flames. He seemed to be engrossed in his task, for he paid Link no heed until he was mere feet from him.

Of all the things Link was expecting upon meeting the old man — a friendly face, a grumpy hello, anything — the reception he got was the very last of those. He was about to clear his throat to get the man’s attention when his foot met a twig, it giving a _snap._ The sound wrenched the old man’s gaze away from the fire and to Link, spurring a reaction that he was hopelessly unprepared for.

Upon seeing him, the old man’s eyes instantaneously widened with horror, and he sucked in a sharp gasp, his jaw dropping and his nostrils flaring. He shot to his feet with an agility that didn’t suit him, drawing his walking stick like a sword and shoving it into Link’s face.

“ _What monstrosity is this?!”_ the old man hissed through bared teeth, inspecting Link from head to toe.

Link froze at the man’s unprovoked ferocity, tossing his hands up in submission. The fire reflecting in his eyes, as well as his imposing height, made the old man suddenly much more of a threat than before. The man looked about to beat him upside the head with his walking stick. With Link’s strength and his youth, he thought he had a fighting chance should things come to that, but without a weapon, he felt defenseless. All that, of course — and the fact that he’d feel guilty attacking an old man — made him hesitant to retaliate.

But if it was in self-defense…? Perhaps he could justify it. In the end, he decided to drop the thought, instead focusing on a means to defuse the situation. He didn’t want to cause any trouble.

Unsure of where to begin, he remained silent under the man’s volatile glare, only to give another flinch when the old man growled, “ _Speak,_ devil!”

“Devil?!” Link gasped. “W-what do you mean? I’m Link. I-I think…” That he wasn’t entirely sure of, but it felt right. The name sounded perfect to him when the girl had whispered it — it had to be his name.

In spite of that, the old man was less than convinced. “Pah! Don’t insult my intelligence, Ganon,” he replied with a sneer. Link had no idea what he was talking about, but he could do nothing but listen. “I know the twisted forms you take. And I know Link. He sleeps in the Shrine, awaiting resurrection. You cannot fool me with this… _abomination_ you have crafted in his image. Cease your lies! Reveal your true face, or begone!”

Link’s brows furrowed at the man’s words — he barked at him like he was some sort of mongrel. Abomination? Could he have been referring to the glowing bones shining through his skin? Granted, the sight had shocked even him, but Link felt that _abomination_ was a bit harsh. He wasn’t a monster. As for the Shrine… he knew for a fact he wasn’t lying in it at the moment; he was being shouted at while staring down the wrong end of a walking stick.

“But I’m not lying! I _am_ Link,” he urged, only to add to the man’s ire. “At least, that was what she told me — ”

The old man’s countenance softened for a moment, catching Link off-guard. The man blinked away some of his anger, his tight grip on the walking stick easing. His voice was considerably gentler when he said, “...She? Who exactly are you referring to?”

Link wished he knew. The reality of his hollow memory crushed him, his shoulders sinking beneath the weight of his longing. Of the thousands of questions suffocating his mind, that was the most burning: What was her name? He’d give anything to know it.

“I don’t know,” he finally sighed, his cheeks warm under the old man’s fiery glare. “I wish I did. A voice came to me in the Shrine — a girl’s voice. She woke me up, told me to grab a Slate. She said it would guide me.”

As he spoke, the old man’s gaze traveled to his hip, where the Sheikah Slate hung. His eyes widened again at the sight of it, growing foggy with memory for a moment, only to inevitably harden. His fuzzy brows knit together, accenting the lines of age and rage in his face. Lips pursing beneath his beard, his knuckles bulged around the walking stick, and he began to shake his head, denying all that he had seen and heard.

Before Link could get in another word to explain himself, the old man spat, “We have nothing more to discuss. If you are truly who you say, then your outward appearance betrays you.” Link drew his chin back, aghast. The old man continued, with a noticeable wilt in his voice, “You are no more Link than I am a king. Good-bye.”

With that, he withdrew his walking stick, left Link with a parting scowl, turned, and began walking down the hill.

Link gaped after him, his mind jammed beyond cognition. What an exchange that was. He was hoping to find answers to his questions, not uncover a dozen more. As frustrating and confusing as their conversation had been, Link had a strong impression that there were no other people around he could turn to. It was either facing the old man, or wallowing in his questions until they drove him insane.

He couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass him by. He managed to free himself from his bewilderment and gave chase, shouting, “Wait! Please, I don’t know what’s going on, or where I am, or _who_ I am! I just need some answers! Please?!”

The old man pretended not to hear him, walking undeterred. Even with his aged legs, he moved surprisingly quickly, keeping well ahead of Link. Link followed, nearly sprinting, down the grassy hill and onto a flight of rugged, mossy stone steps — a staircase peeking through the overgrowth. He was so focused on regaining the old man’s attention that he scarcely noticed the gradual appearances of weathered, man-made structures emerging out of the greenery.

Still following the old man, he watched him turn a corner marked by a cracked stone monolith laced with vines. Link slapped a palm against the stone to gain some leverage, planning to slingshot around its edge to continue his pursuit. But the moment he came around, he skidded to a stop, his breath catching. He suddenly found himself alone, his only company the monolith, and the bed of rippling grass beneath it.

The old man had completely disappeared.

Astounded, Link tossed his head in all directions, his hair whipping around his neck as he scoured the area for any trace of his unfriendly neighbor. But no matter his search, he found nothing but still, tranquil nature around him. Not a darting shadow between the nearby oaks, nor the scraping of a retreating boot against the weathered bricks underfoot. The old man appeared to have vanished into silence and thin air.

Link was baffled. It made no sense. Where could he have possibly gone? Had he only imagined him? No, that couldn’t have been. ...Or could it?

The thought sent a fearful chill up his spine; he suddenly didn’t like the idea of being by himself, but not being entirely alone. Who knew what else was out here? Perhaps the old man was the least of his worries, if he had even been real.

But if he didn’t exist, then who had lit the fire? The answer, among the many he sought, escaped Link. All the same, his skin prickled as if he were under the scrutiny of a thousand sets of eyes.

Taking another survey of his surroundings, he ground his jaw, now finding himself in need of a weapon — just on the off chance that the old man returned… or something worse. He doubted he’d find much in the way of defense in the glade of apple trees to his left, so he turned his sights on the church up the hill. There might have been something useful lying in its halls.

Mapping his way up the winding path to the church, he set off, all the while keeping a wary eye on the terrain. The scattered remains of old buildings and pillars made for ideal ambush points, so he kept his wits about him, ears piqued for any sounds of movement. He didn’t want to get jumped by the old man, should he reappear and decide to carry out his aggression on him.

Link tried to put his strange encounter with the old man out of his mind, but he couldn’t seem to shake it. It buzzed through his brain like a swarm of bees, angry and stinging and everywhere. The caustic disgust in his eyes filled Link with a sense of shame. What had he done to deserve that? Yes, the sight of his glowing bones was bizarre and unnatural, but his appearance hardly qualified him as a beast to be slain. He had done nothing to the old man to illicit that sort of behavior, but the way he treated him made it seem like he and Link were sworn enemies.

He didn’t understand it, nor did he want to. Sighing through his nose, he pushed away the memory, pressing on. He hoped he’d never see the old man again.

As he made his way toward the church, he took a moment to admire the ruins he had absently stumbled into. They were a mysterious, if not thought-provoking, sight, materializing out of the undergrowth like ghosts. Time had beaten against the once-proud structures and stone walkways and staircases — all now baked and brittled by the sun and splotched with moss, silently overlooking the wild as it reclaimed them into its embrace.

Walking through the ruins instilled some reverence in Link, soothing his anxieties slightly. His mind wandered just as his feet did; he wondered who had once tread these paths, on what errands they had walked, the lives they had lead, their stories. The stillness of the stone made him pause to wonder why such a beautiful place had been abandoned; judging by the lush state of things, nobody had been there in quite some time. Where had everyone gone?

Yet more questions. They never seemed to end. He may not have known what happened there, but he didn’t let the thought consume him. He had other engagements — finding a weapon, perhaps a shield, and gaining his bearings. Although he didn’t know the answers, then, he would find out in due time. But for the moment, he was the sole, living occupant of the ancient abbey.

At length, he made his way to the final staircase before the church. He stopped himself on the landing, craning his neck back to behold the crumbling facade of the church in its entirety. It seemed to stretch into the sky, yet it crumbled in its efforts — half of the western wall had collapsed, exposing the inner hall and scattering bricks across the grass sprouting through the foundation.

He felt tiny in its shadow, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying its classical, sophisticated architecture. The towering middle steeple made for a fantastic centerpiece, and the multitude of arched windows dashed across its faces undoubtedly once held intricate stained glass. Part of him could already picture it in his mind. It was a shame it was in such a state; the church was a ghost of its former self.

Eager to discover its secrets, he swiftly drove himself up the stairs and went inside. The colossal entrance seemed to swallow him, soon washing him in cool shade from the mostly-intact roof high above. The skeletal barrel vault held onto what scraps of the decaying ceiling it could, spilling shingles and framework onto the floor. He found with a strike of intrigue that the church was partially flooded, most likely from a recent storm.

Link tilted his head in awe, breathing in the damp smell of the water as it mingled with the fresh grass and wet stonework. Bits of the roof and supports jutted out from the smooth, mirror-like pond blanketing the entirety of the hall. It glittered in the dappled sunlight. The water perfectly reflected the sky through the broken ceiling, as well as an enormous statue situated at the farthest wall.

He couldn’t quite make out what it was at that distance. He had to get a better look. For some reason, he was drawn to it, taking his first steps into the water without noticing how deep it actually was. Frigid water poured into his shoes, but he didn’t care — he strode through the pond, casting ripples that drifted across the surface like echoes.

When he arrived, he sent a miniature tidal wave upon the short staircase at the statue’s base, his shoes squelching with each step he took to meet it. The statue soared over him, nearly reaching the vaulted ceiling, though its dominance was nowhere near as intimidating as the old man had been. 

No, the statue was his polar opposite: it portrayed a reverent, winged woman, her pleated dress and gentle, smiling features captured in stone.

The longer Link stood in the light of her smile, the quicker the statue seemed to transform before his eyes. Though her eyes were closed, he nevertheless felt her stony gaze upon him — perhaps it was a trick of the light against her face, but she gradually appeared to sadden, her smile fading.

Link’s brow twisted — he thought he was seeing things. Shaking his head, he brought up his fingers to rub his eyes, only… his fingertips didn’t meet skin. They met something rigid, almost like bone, surrounding his eyes like a mask.

His stomach dropped. What on earth was he touching? He wasn’t aware that he had been wearing anything other than the old clothes and the Sheikah Slate. Curious – if not a tad concerned – he quickly brought his other hand up to his face, fingers investigating.

Things became stranger and stranger the more he prodded his face — his lips were normal, but where his nose should have been, something hard and blunt protruded, and it was lined underneath with a row of sharp points. Were those… were those _teeth?!_ He traveled further up his face, to his cheekbones, only to find that they were just that — edged like _bone,_ lacking smooth skin. Even stranger, he somehow _felt_ the touch of his fingers, though he knew he wasn’t touching skin. Almost as if the bone _was_ his skin.

Panicking, he brought his hands up to his forehead, expecting soft locks of his hair. But he found the opposite: a pair of what felt like short horns, sprouting from his hairline.

His breath had since accelerated to hyperventilating — he was starting to see stars. Whipping around, he tried to make his way down the stairs to find his reflection in the pond, only to trip over his own feet, plunging face-first into the water.

Sputtering on a mouthful, he lifted himself out of the pond on hand and knee, waiting for the surface to clear. His rampant breathing didn’t help matters, fogging the surface. When at last the water settled, the face staring back at him ripped a ragged scream of terror out of his throat.

There was no escaping it — that was his face. _His face._ It was unreal.

He appeared to be wearing a demented masquerade mask crafted from bone. Yet, he somehow knew that _it was his face,_ spanning from his below his hairline to just above his mouth, where it ended in a line of wicked incisors. His eyes were nothing more than amber slivers of light floating in a pair of slitted, pitch-black eye sockets. Rust-colored hair framed his face, as well as trailing down his neck in a ponytail, and he was crowned with a set of stunted horns.

While the sight of his face alone nearly drove him mad, undoubtedly, the most nightmarish aspect of his face was the third eye set into his forehead — as big as his fist, its cat-like iris gleamed with an evil light amidst sclera black as night, and it moved in-sync with his own two eyes. It lay in a bed of glowing magenta sludge — akin to what had spawned from his hands and infected the Sheikah Slate.

Link reared back, shredding the peaceful atmosphere apart with his screams. They echoed hauntingly against the ancient walls. Heart smashing against his ribcage, he scrambled away from the water, as if fleeing the reflection there would change him. He backed himself up the stairs until he slammed head against the statue.

Wheezing, he brought his knees to his chest, clawing at his face. He ingrained his fingers into the bone, trying to find a gap he could attack — maybe if he just got it off, he would be fine. Yes. All he had to do was get it off. He dug at every corner, unable to get a grip, until his fingertips found the fang-laced edge. There was a bit of a gap to make room for his nostrils, and he foolishly attempted to slide his fingers under it. He quickly regretted it, one of the fangs lancing his fingertip open.

He withdrew his hands with a grimace, watching a fat drop of blood ooze out of his finger. No, not blood — more of the vibrant, magenta sludge. _It was inside him._ Surely, this was a nightmare. He couldn’t look at it. He clenched his hand into a fist as a violent shudder tore through him.

Out of breath, Link promptly fell limp, staring emptily across the water. While his frantic thoughts clambered for solutions, he realized with dread that this was what the old man had reacted so strongly to: a monster in human form, wearing a crown of horn and bone, watching him with a trio of horrific eyes. It suddenly all made sense. His reaction, his hostility, his _hatred._ His words. Abomination.

“Maybe I am a monster,” Link breathed. For a moment or two, he began to believe it.

_No,_ came a familiar voice.

Link nearly jumped out of his transparent skin. The voice had cut clean through his panic like a knife, giving him enough clarity to recognize it.

It was her. The girl from the Shrine. She had found him again. He thought her farewell at the Shrine was her last connection with him, but he was blissfully, wonderfully wrong. He thanked whatever higher powers there were for her timely return — it came not a moment too soon.

Link rocketed to his feet, eager to listen. She spoke again before he had the chance to reply.

_You could never be a monster, Link. Let me show you what a true monstrosity is. Climb to the rooftop, and you will see._

He did as he was told without question. Whirling around, he leapt off the statue’s altar, dunking into the pond with a mighty splash. He waded through the water and out of the gaping hole in the side of the church, scouring the dilapidated outer structures for a way up to the roof. Thankfully for his aching fingers, he wouldn’t have to improvise a route up the pillars — a rickety ladder sat perched against a portion of the wall, practically godsend.

Darting forward, he scaled the ladder with ease, arriving at the roof of the church. He carefully climbed the steep a-frame coated in fragile shingles and avoided the collapsing rooftop, balancing his way across the main support beam and towards the church’s front. There awaited the central steeple, and at its center, the belfry. That seemed like a decent vantage point for whatever the girl wanted to show him.

As quickly as he could hoist himself up, he rushed to his feet inside the small, square belfry, where he waited, listening, for a moment. Birds chirped in the trees far below, a soft breeze cooling the sweat slicking the back of his neck. While awaiting her voice, he slowly strode over to the empty window panes, peering through them at the wild laid out below. He could see for miles, spotting several landmarks he had found upon exiting the Shrine — the twin peaks, the volcano, and ultimately, the distant castle.

He squinted at it — something seemed off about it. Was that… a light, shimmering in the castle’s silhouette?

Just when he was at his most curious, her voice found him again.

_Try, Link…_ she began, her words trickling into his brain like clear water. _Try to remember. Your memories, they faded during your slumber in the Shrine of Resurrection. You must remember your time from before, if you are to liberate Hyrule from the monster that wishes to devour it._

To his amazement, the light beamed brighter. That had to have been her, trapped within the castle. He knew it, somehow. Part of him died inside at that realization. She was so far away, and in pain, it seemed.

She explained, _You have been asleep for the past one hundred years, awaiting the day when your wounds would heal, and you would rise._

Link choked on her words. One hundred years?! He couldn’t wrap his mind around it — it didn’t seem possible, and yet, the way in which she said it made him believe.

_That day has finally come,_ she continued. _And just as you rose, so did… the beast._

Link’s heart skipped a beat as a massive tremor rocked the earth, nearly sending him tumbling out of the belfry. Thankfully, he managed to hang onto the belfry window, turning his gaze toward the castle, again. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he witnessed a tremendous bank of writhing, vile black clouds surge from beneath the castle, tendrils of glowing magenta light swirling inside them. He knew that color all too well — it sent a shudder down his spine. To his dismay, the clouds consumed the castle voraciously, stuttering her radiance.

Then the clouds began to coalesce into a shape: a monumental shadow of a creature he had never seen, but that nevertheless ignited a righteous petrification in his body. It shot through his veins like ice, twisting his gut and piercing his brain with a powerful dagger of fear.

_Calamity Ganon,_ she breathed.

It released a demonic, unholy roar that thundered mightily through the land, rattling his bones and sending him to his knees. He dug his fingertips into his hair and groaned in agony as his head exploded with pain, his ears ringing — but he couldn’t pull his eyes from the monster shaping itself into fruition in the skies around the castle. It seemed to have a grasp on his gaze, forbidding him from turning away. It wanted him to bask in its corrupted glory.

Through his bleary, pain-streaked vision, Link recognized its features — the toxic magenta glow cascading along the smog came to two curved points that jutted out of its fiendish jaws. Tusks. Horns. It didn’t matter what they were. They still paralyzed him. And trained precisely on him were two blood-chilling, unblinking eyes, golden in their color, but malicious in their radiance.

Calamity Ganon was watching him. He cowered beneath its piercing gaze.

When the girl's voice graced Link again, it issued in a triumphant burst of light from the castle's heart, soothing Link's raging headache and sending the beast into a retreat. But the girl's tone was anything but triumphant as she warned, _When the beast regains his true power, this world will face its end, and all souls on it will become his. He will consume. Consume everything. And everyone._

Pushed back by his warden, Calamity Ganon offered Link one final stare before her light dispelled him, returning him to the confines of Hyrule Castle. This wouldn’t be the final time they saw each other, and it looked forward to seeing him again.

The beast’s absence left Link on his knees, soaked in sweat and clutching his head, his breath erratic. He thought his heart would burst in his chest. The thought of facing that monstrosity left him weak, unable to think... and hopelessly afraid. How could she have such faith in him? How could she trust him to something as monumental as slay a beast?

As fear began to chew its way inside him, the girl returned, however briefly, to offer him some well-needed motivation. 

_Please. You must hurry, Link,_ she pled.

_Before it’s too late…_


	4. Ghost in the Machine

A lifetime seemed to pass for Link as he knelt within the belfry, his body as numb as his brain. In reality, only a few minutes had passed since the girl plead for his help and withdrew from him, leaving his mind as thick and dark as the twisting shadows engulfing Hyrule Castle.

Her return and sudden absence had utterly destroyed Link in both mind and body. Were he not so paralyzed before, he would have begged for her to stay with him; moreso then than ever, when he feared his terror of Calamity Ganon would rend him into nothing. But his first sights of the beast throttled his voice. Without saying another word, she suddenly vanished back into its foul clutches.

Link wasn’t sure how many more times he could bear losing her: it felt as if his soul were being ripped from his body when she pulled her light from him. He physically ached without her, his muscles inexplicably sore, his bones stiff, his head throbbing. She seemed to be the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Looking on toward the castle, he strained to see her light, again, but it never showed. He sighed and leaned his heavy head against the empty window, staring longingly at the tendrils of corruption lacing between the castle’s spires. She was in those walls, somewhere, staving off the beast’s wrath — and she was facing it alone. Somehow his heart managed to wither further in his chest for her.

As he gazed at the castle, his mind boiled with dread at the memory of what he had witnessed, and what he had been called to do. How could he take on this task, to kill a monster threatening the world — when he was a monster himself? Why did she think he could do it? What about him made him worthy? With the discovery of his appearance, he hardly felt worthy of her grace, let alone the title of hero.

No, he wasn’t a hero. He was a monster. The old man had said so. His cruel words blasted back into Link’s head with painful bursts, almost as if they were being shouted at him, again.

His mind swarming with the day’s events, Link shuddered at the reality he found himself in. There he knelt, a lone, amnesiac, monstrous fallen hero tasked with slaying an unholy demon. The beast… Even _Calamity Ganon…_ The mere thought of that hellish creature putrefied whatever resolve he thought he had mustered. As the vision of it bled back into his mind, his headache gained its second wind. He pinched his eyes shut, hoping to rid his mind of the image.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, however, he couldn’t shake the notion that he and the beast were connected. Their similarities were undeniable — a pair of horns, wicked amber eyes, that magenta glow coursing through their dark bodies… It was an inescapable truth that he was hopelessly outrunning. But their similarities only raised another question.

Why?

Why were Link and Calamity Ganon so alike? He had no idea. He doubted she knew, either. Though the question gnawed at him, it was no use spraining his brain to try and figure it out. He’d only give himself another headache he didn’t need.

But of the multitude of questions he didn’t have answers to, he did know this: he might not have been able to remember what she looked like, nor even remember her name, but he knew that she believed he could rescue Hyrule from certain destruction.

Whether he was a monster or not, she believed in him when nobody else did. Her faith shone through the distance between them and the darkness of her prison — a fact that filled him with hope. A trembling hope in the face of Calamity Ganon, yes, but hope nonetheless. And where there was hope, there was courage.

That courage began to burn within him as the thought of her light cleared the smog in his mind, steadying his fluttering heart and giving him strength. He couldn’t leave her to face Calamity Ganon on her own. She had done so much for him that he absolutely had to offer his help, and that entailed overcoming his fears and rising to the challenge. That would prove easier said than done, but if she believed in him, then he could stand to believe a little in himself.

Right. He knew the path he was to take: he had to leave the belfry, gather supplies, and set out for Hyrule Castle. Whether he was ready or not, it was time to move. She couldn’t wait forever.

With a motivating exhale, Link got to his feet, patting away the dust clinging to the knees of his pants. Before he descended the church, he thought he ought to have a look around from his vantage point, mapping places of interest to aid his needs. He roamed from window to window, scanning the horizon, taking mental note of the scattered ponds and clusters of trees dotting the rolling, grassy terrain, as well as the skeletal remains of the abbey below. He would search there first. It might hold something worthwhile.

Before he set out, he gave the castle in the distance one final glance.

“I’m coming,” he promised. “Just hold on.”

With that, Link left the belfry at his back and skirted along the rooftop, finding the ladder and quickly sliding down. He paused for a moment when he hit the ground, the back of his neck tingling. Something was eating at him — he had to check if he had been seeing things, before.

Slowly, like tiptoeing into the den of a wolf, he poked his head around the wall and laid eyes on the statue at the back of the church. She stood quietly on her pedestal, unchanged, gazing with closed eyes into her glassy pond. When he again laid his eyes on her face, he found that her smile had returned.

It seemed a good omen — it brought a faint smile to his lips, as well.

Now armed with drive in his step, Link splashed along the rubble and hurried down several staircases, finding himself once again amidst the crumbling figures of the abbey. As he stepped into the first structure, he cast his eyes across his surroundings, wary of movement.

The old man had disappeared near there, and the last thing he wanted was a surprise while his back was turned. Thankfully, his only company was the breeze playing in the grass. With the coast clear, he began his search.

At first, he found very little in the way of supplies. Nature and time had stripped the abbey of any leftovers of civilization, replacing them with skittish wildlife hiding in the undergrowth. Several sun-brittled wooden barrels lay in a few corners, but they were half-shattered and contained nothing. He turned over piles of bricks to uncover moss and startled insects, and scattered butterflies as he went. He peeked under a fallen pillar to discover the scraps of an abandoned bird’s nest, a few rock-hard acorns stashed inside. He was hoping for eggs, but the acorns were better than nothing. He scooped them up and continued sifting through the ruins.

Link had scoured four structures by that point, with only a handful of acorns for his efforts. He was starting to lose hope. But it was in the final building that his patience was rewarded; it stood a ways off from the rest of the abbey, beside a plaza with a dried fountain at its heart.

He ducked under a sunken archway and entered the remains of the building. Most of the ceiling had caved in to the interior, making it difficult to explore, but he managed. As he rifled through the fallen stonework, his eyes lit up when he unearthed several chests, each secured with weathered locks. It appeared they hadn’t been touched in over one hundred years. Energized at his discovery, he quickly grabbed a brick and smashed his way into them.

Upon examining the contents of the chests, it occurred to him that perhaps this building had once been an armory or a storage facility: each chest contained travel gear, the items worn with time, but in decent enough condition. They would suit his needs for the time being.

He removed from the first chest a wide, battered shield, scratched and flaking with rust. The leather strap at the back was remarkably intact, so he slung it over his back. In the next, a few swords still in their scabbards; the first, like the shield, was striped with rust, but usable. It felt right in his hand, though he wasn’t sure how long it would last.

But the second sword left much to be desired — when Link slid it out of the scabbard to inspect it, he found it had shattered over time, the blade only extending a few inches from its hilt. He couldn’t do much with a broken sword, and it was too short to use as a dagger, so he left it where he found it.

To his disappointment, he didn’t find a bow in the final chest — only an empty, petrified wooden quiver, which he still took — but he did find an old canteen and a series of leather traveler’s bags and belts. They were a tad crusted with age, and he had to shake out a few spiderwebs, but they fit around him well and provided him with plenty of carrying capacity.

He took the opportunity to stash his acorns in the smallest bag on his hip. They rattled around as he clambered out of the collapsed building — the sound pleased him, as did his findings. He felt a bit more ready to handle the brave new world. For some strange reason, the weight of the equipment on his back filled him with a sense of familiarity and comfort. But perhaps he just appreciated feeling prepared?

With the treasures of the abbey exhausted, Link looked around for other places to scavenge. He wanted to find as much as he could carry before making his way to the castle. However, he didn’t get very far in his search, for something stopped him — his stomach knotted up, giving a low growl. He grit his teeth as a pang of hunger stabbed his gut, his hand automatically flying to his abdomen.

It suddenly dawned on him that it had been one hundred years since he’d eaten anything. The thought was a strange one, and he was amazed his hunger had only reared itself just then. But, knowing his day so far, he was just glad his body was catching up.

Before he found anything else, he needed to find something to eat… and fast. He didn’t care what it was, so long as it wasn’t acorns.

Thankfully for him, nature was happy to provide. The memory of a nearby grove of apple trees sprung to life in his mind, and he practically tripped over himself to get to them. When at last he arrived, the sight of the trees and the bright, glistening crimson fruits in their branches drove his stomach wild, and he busied himself over the next little while scaling the boughs to pick his fill.

After gathering an armful of apples, he sat himself down in the shade of an old oak, shining the biggest one he had picked on his shirt. He briefly looked it over in his hand before biting into its vibrant, gold-flecked skin. Chewing, he flopped into the tree at his back, relishing in the apple’s crisp, sweet flesh dissolving against his tongue. A delicate spray of juice cascaded off of the apple with each bite he took, the aroma tingling his nose, sending his senses into euphoria.

Link sighed and shut his eyes, resting his head against the tree. In that moment, he forgot his fears, his face, and his foes. He was perfectly content in the shade of that tree, tasting life again for the first time in one hundred years.

Satisfying a centuries-long fast, he ravenously gouged out mouthfuls of his apple until only the seeds and stem remained. He cast them aside, grabbing another apple from the pile. After attacking it, too, he spat out the seeds and took up another. As the sun crept gradually toward its apex in the sky, he ate apple after apple until his empty stomach was pleasantly full.

Relaxing for just a moment more, he seized the time he had to listen to the wind brush through the grove. Crickets chirped in the grass and leaves whispered together overhead, sunlight glittering on the dewy blades. It was hard to believe this peaceful world lingered on the brink of annihilation, but that was all the more motivation to save it from Calamity Ganon.

Link had been enjoying his meal when a chill darted up his neck, breaking his solace. He sat up, glancing around, his hand finding the hilt of his sword. He felt a pair of eyes on him, again, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who they belonged to.

Sure enough, he was right. Link found his guest standing up the hill a ways off, near a plume of smoke rising from a campfire. He recognized the tall, dark, and stocky silhouette of the old man with his walking stick, stood near the spot where they had spoken before. Even at that distance, Link’s face still burned under the old man’s hard stare, and it only brought back unpleasant memories.

Link’s smile faded to a firm line. He had sought help from the old man earlier, but he definitely didn’t want it then. While maintaining eye contact with him, Link opened his travel pack and swept his apples inside it, eager to find another place to scavenge. He thought he’d try one of the ponds he had seen from the belfry — they were plenty far away from there. The old man was the last person he wanted to talk to at the moment.

Without acknowledging him further, Link shouldered his packs and strode deeper into the forest.

Truth be told, he didn’t hate the old man — he simply wanted nothing to do with him and his cruelty. After seeing his own frightening face, Link could certainly understand the old man’s treatment of him, but that didn’t make it sting any less. He’d rather avoid being demonized for something he couldn’t help; he had enough on his mind to worry about, his startling appearance being one of them.

Link turned his mind away from the old man as he walked between the pockets of shade cast by the trees, birdsong filling his ears. He hoped to find a bow of some sort at the pond, but he wasn’t counting on it. Maybe he could fashion himself a slingshot, or carve out a spear from a branch; he needed more weapons besides the rusty sword. Even if he didn’t find any other weapons, he definitely hoped to find extra provisions — perhaps some fish, maybe some berries. He’d have to see what the pond offered him.

At length, he emerged through the tree line onto a small hill, overlooking a collection of ponds strewn across a flat stretch of grassland. The biggest pond caught his eye in particular, its surface spotted with lily pads, with a dark island jutting from its furthest bank. The island stuck out considerably amidst the greenery around it, which puzzled Link. Now curious, he slid down the hill and approached the pond’s edge, running his eyes over the island.

It was undoubtedly the strangest island he had ever seen, resembling more of an enormous, leaning pillar, totally blackened by age and mottled with moss. He carefully stretched his arm out over the water to touch it, his fingertips meeting cold, smooth stone. Though he struggled to see it for the moss, he found that the island was elegantly embellished, with thick, swirling designs carving deep grooves and valleys in its surface. As he admired them, the decorations jogged his memory. Where had he seen these designs before?

Then it hit him — the Sheikah Slate. He removed the Slate from his belt and held it up to the island, comparing the two. They were both made of the same dark stone and ornamented with swirling patterns — definitely cut from the same mold, or perhaps, carved by the same hands. The Slate lacked the weathering, however, making him believe that the island (if he could call it that, anyway) had sat in the pond for a century.

Now that he had a better look at it, he deduced that it wasn’t an island after all, but rather a statue, sinking into the water. What the statue was depicting, he hadn’t a clue. He briefly wondered how it had gotten there.

Ultimately, the statue proved a useless curiosity to him, as did the rest of the pond; no fish swam in the water, and there didn’t appear to be any plants nearby, other than grass, of course. As he cast his gaze around to find his next scavenging location, his eyes found yet another relic that didn’t belong amongst the wild — a long brick wall, spanning as far as the eye could see in either direction.

Link wandered away from the statue and to the wall, confused as to what it was doing all the way out there. He was far from the abbey, and there weren’t any other man-made structures nearby. Was the wall meant to keep something out? Or something in? He intended to find out.

He inspected it, watching it shoot off into the distance, curving around and vanishing behind the trees. It was too tall to scale without proper footholds, but he wanted to see what lay beyond it, so he searched for an opening.

The wall, much like the rest of the structures in the area, had seen better days, making finding a break between the bricks rather easy — a short ways away, the wall had collapsed, revealing a gap. Fascinated by whatever was on the other side, Link broke into a jog, his equipment bouncing and clacking with each movement until he reached the opening.

Link had barely rounded the wall’s edge and stepped through the gap when his heart dropped into his stomach — his foot had met open air. He choked on a gasp, clinging to the bricks for dear life and wrenching himself back to solid ground.

He hit the dirt, hard, on his backside, where he sat, catching his breath. Scooting forward, he carefully leaned out over the edge of a vertigo-inducing cliff, eyes widening at the plunge he had nearly taken.

That was close. His heartbeat had skyrocketed in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t a wonder why the wall was there — the cliff soared so high above the ground that Link _couldn’t_ see the ground. A bank of pale, misty clouds clung to the cliffside, obscuring what lay miles below him. He thanked his lucky stars for the wall, otherwise he’d have no doubt become a shattered puddle of bone and muscle at the base of the cliff.

As he paused to recuperate, Link came to the realization that he had woken up on a great, isolated plateau. He had no idea how he had gotten up there a century ago — the cliffs were too sheer to be climbed, even with gear. And considering the words of the girl, he had been injured when he climbed the plateau. How had he managed that?

When he really thought about it, he couldn’t fathom how the old man had found his way onto the plateau, either — even if there were paths up the cliffside, they were no doubt steep and arduous. Neither a wounded man or an aged one could make the hike before they eventually tired and collapsed. Perhaps the old man was more than he seemed…?

All facts considered, then, another thought crossed Link’s mind: how was he going to get down to the mainland? Climbing would be suicide. As far as he knew, there was no alternative other than flying down, somehow, but that was impossible.

But maybe there were trails down the cliffside? He needed to take a look for himself to find out.

Though he was firmly planted at the plateau’s edge, Link feared a single gust of wind would push him overboard. He gingerly scooted himself across the ground until he felt he had reached a safe distance to stand — near the pond, in fact — and got to his feet on shaky legs.

Before he set off in search of a way off the plateau, he rinsed his face with cool water to calm his nerves. He then followed the extent of the wall along the cliff edge, hunting for any points where he could maybe find a way down. The only possible option was a collection of low, stone walls a short walk south. He figured they were worth a look. After taking a quick sip of the pond water and filling his canteen, he rose and started walking.

Link made sure to give the wall a wide berth — his fear of falling off the plateau, while irrational at the distance he maintained, was still a distinct possibility. He had no idea how stable the ground was beneath his feet; he wouldn’t be any use to the girl at Hyrule Castle if he was dead.

While he strode alongside the wall, he ran his gaze over the passing terrain, spotting a familiar sight between the trees on the hilltop: a lone, dark figure with a snowy beard.

Link’s hair immediately stood on end, his pace slowing. Was the old man following him? Between seeing him outside the forest and then, it certainly seemed to be. Whatever the case, he was abruptly very grateful he had found a sword. Turning away, Link pressed his legs forward and left the old man even farther behind him.

The distant buildings appeared further away than they actually were, with Link arriving in no time at all. At first glance, he realized that they were an annex to the abbey by the church, their architecture similar. However, they were arguably in the worst condition he had seen on the plateau so far, the moss and vines clinging to their pale and disintegrating walls barely holding them together. Sun and time hadn’t been kind to the easternmost abbey.

Strangely, Link couldn’t seem to find a clear way in. The archways he found in his perimeter search of the area were blocked with rubble and fallen trees — from the inside. He scratched his head, wondering if the abbey’s previous occupants were trying to keep something out. Wildlife, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

As he checked the final archway, he found it obstructed as well. Interestingly enough, the blockage here was guarded by another sunken, decayed statue like the one he had found in the pond. They were identical in their time-battered states, but this particular statue protruded from the ground at a shallower depth, allowing him to see more of it than just its top.

 _What a bizarre statue…_ he thought, looking it over.

Now that he could take in more of it, he realized just how gigantic it was compared to him. It didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason in its design — it was divided into three distinct sections, its uppermost portion resembling an enormous ceramic pot. The statue’s, for lack of a better word, body, curved downward in a bell shape, its ornate rim and stunning patterns on its surface mossy and half-buried in the grass.

Again, Link wondered if it was there for decoration. Either way, it was no more than an antique to him. He cracked his knuckles and prepared to climb over the rubble it guarded and into the abbey.

It was then that he heard a noise that killed his momentum entirely — it rang like a ghostly gong in the wind, a nauseous fear blooming in his gut the moment it hit his ears. His heart stuttered in his chest; he felt as if he had heard that sound before, but he knew he never had.

The gritty grinding of stone followed the haunting chime, slowly pulling Link’s attention toward the statue. His body seized up in shock as he watched the statue somehow begin to _move,_ its sections rotating independently of each other, separating slightly to reveal the jittery mechanisms inside it.

All at once, a light breathed to life inside it, shining through its embellishments and igniting it with an infamous magenta glow. That light culminated in a single, unblinking eye set in the center of its head. It scanned its surroundings for a brief moment before honing its gaze directly on Link.

He froze under its eye, lungs crippled and heart hammering. He had felt this caliber of fear, before, as he cowered in the shadow of Calamity Ganon. He knew without a doubt that the statue’s eye trained on him, as well as the eyes of the beast, were one and the same. The arresting power in the statue’s eye locked his body without his control. Though he found the thought preposterous, he found himself tensing for an attack. But how could a statue attack him?

Only, the attack he was expecting never came. At least not to Link. No, after staring at him for several eternal moments, the statue suddenly whirled its head and took aim at something behind him. A thin red beam of light sparked out of its pupil, zeroing in on its target.

Link somehow managed to break free of his paralysis, jerking his head over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whatever the statue was targeting. He found none other than the old man far behind him, utterly immobilized by the statue’s reticle glaring between his eyes. He stood slack-jawed, his gaze glazed over with mortal peril, gripping his walking stick with white knuckles.

Link’s shock at seeing the old man snapped him out of his stupor. He shouted, tossing his hands up in a sweeping gesture, “Hey! Get out of here! You need to _run!”_

No matter his shouts, the old man didn’t hear; he remained rooted in his place, too immobilized by threat of the statue to move.

Breaking into a sweat, Link looked between them rapidly, his mind racing for options. Somehow, he knew that if he didn’t do something, then the old man was as good as dead. But what could he do? It appeared the statue was readying a laser of some sort, and it was bursting to fire, crackling light gathering in its eye.

Link wouldn’t have enough time to tackle the old man out of the way. In a freak streak of instinct from deep inside him, Link ripped his shield from his back and hugged it against his chest, diving into the line of fire just as the statue unleashed its laser.

Link glued his eyes shut against a blinding onslaught of light, bracing himself for the worst. If this didn’t work, he prayed his shield would absorb the blast. While midair, a tremendous force collided with his shield, punching it into his sternum and forcing the wind out of him. Amidst a blast of heat, he was shoved backward, smashing into the ground before rolling several times until he skidded to a stop.

When his head finally stopped spinning, he peeled his eyes open and sat up in spite of the pain in his ribs, his eyes immediately on the statue. To his amazement, his spur-of-the-moment idea worked — the beam had glanced off of his rusty shield and directly into the statue’s eye. The statue whirred and sparked, its magenta light flashing sporadically until it exploded in a stunning shower of fire and light, a mighty boom shaking the ground. Before Link could celebrate, however, he watched something strange radiate from out of the statue. A series of boiling tendrils of smoke shot out of the statue's body, scattering into the air before diffusing into nothing. 

Link huddled beneath his shield as ashes rained upon him, astounded at his quick thinking. Somehow, it just felt natural. Like he had… done it before. With the danger gone, Link scrambled to his feet, turned, and locked eyes with the old man.

Link couldn’t immediately name exactly what, but something in the old man’s countenance had changed — he looked drained standing there, speechless, clutching his walking stick close to his chest. His eyes sifted through Link’s face, and he winced against several scowls threatening to take over his brow. All the same, he couldn’t look away from the young man that had saved him so selflessly.

It was quiet for a time until Link asked, “Are you all right?”

The old man jolted back as if Link had shouted at him, causing Link to react similarly. Link was expecting to be reprimanded, but instead, the old man’s lips pursed. He gave a mute nod.

They watched each other for a moment or two, Link growing uncomfortable in the silence. In reality, the old man was struggling for words, his mind abuzz with doubt and fear and faith. He wasn’t sure how to proceed with his thoughts. Ultimately, his hesitation bolstered Link’s desire to leave as soon as he could.

For Link, that simple nod was all the thanks he needed — and all that he was going to get. He bowed his head, clenched his fists, and bade the old man goodbye.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured before turning on his heel and beginning to walk away.

He hadn’t made it two steps before a weary voice called out to him.

“Link...” the old man croaked.

Link stopped mid-stride, casting his head over his shoulder, astonished that the old man had actually spoken to him by name. Words escaped him when he caught a glimpse of how sorrowful the old man now appeared. His dark eyes were clouded and gloomy, his shoulders slumped, a deepset frown highlighting the wrinkles in his face. He suddenly appeared to be well over one hundred years old.

The old man continued, his voice low, “I… I have been unfair to you. I apologize for my rash behavior, and if you would allow me to do so, I would like to make it up to you.”

Link gaped at the man’s offering; he was actually showing him kindness. He could hardly believe it.

He listened in awe as the old man proposed, “I would like to invite you to my cabin nearby for a meal. Accompany me there, and I will answer any questions you have. That is, if you are willing to answer mine.”

Link blinked at the prospect of that, his curiosity piqued, something stirring inside him.

The old man blinked, wondering, “Is that something that would interest you?”

Link replied with a nod. “Yes, please.”

It was then that a weak smile curved the corners of the man’s lips, a faint light finding his eyes.

“Very well. Follow me.”


	5. The King's Blessing

The walk to the old man’s cabin was, in a way, peaceful. Gusts of wind rolled through the sunny, grassy plain, blowing at their backs and pushing them along the easternmost stretch of the plateau. As they passed between the aspens and boulders dotting the landscape, they were both inwardly relieved to be leaving the old abbey, and for the same reasons; Link was eager to finally have some answers to his questions, just as the old man was ready to find answers to his own. They had much to talk about, and they wasted no time in their march to the cabin.

While the walk itself was pleasant, it wasn’t without its rigid, awkward silence; it hung in the air like a fog between them, thick enough to run your fingers through. The old man walked an arm’s length away from Link, and, apart from his initial invitation, said absolutely nothing to him, his eyes set straight ahead. He kept his gaze averted from Link, but Link’s glowing yellow eyes wandered to the old man, getting another look at him.

The old man hadn’t changed since they first met — albeit he was a bit shaken — but Link abruptly took notice that the old man didn’t use his walking stick to aid him as he moved. He instead held it close to his person, off of the ground. Link found that his gait wasn’t hindered by a limp or old age. Perhaps he used the stick for self-defense? He ended up dismissing the thought; he figured it didn’t matter all that much.

But before long, the silence grew unbearable. Link thought he’d break it with his first question.

Looking over his shoulder at the smoking crater far behind them, he asked, “What was that thing? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The old man’s reply was delayed, but he eventually answered, “That was a relic from an age long passed. I didn’t think there were any active Guardians left on the plateau, but it seems I was wrong. Hopefully, that was the last of them.”

Link cocked his head, the name tickling his brain, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Guardians... What exactly are they?”

Instead of giving him a straight answer, the old man responded with a question of his own. “Well, what do _you_ think they are? From your experience. You have found two — one at the pond, the other at the abbey. Tell me what you think. I’m curious.”

Link, scrunching his brow, explained it the only way he understood, saying, “They looked like statues, worn by time. But I’ve never seen a statue move of its own accord like that. Like it could think for itself. It was… alive, almost.”

A thought breezed through Link’s mind as he said that aloud: perhaps it was somehow Calamity Ganon’s doing, bringing the statues to life? He knew undeniably that the beast had watched him through the Guardian’s eye. The fear that had struck him was unforgettable. He then began to wonder if the old man knew of Calamity Ganon. He’d ask him later.

“Indeed,” the old man agreed, much to Link’s surprise. “Though it may be difficult to believe, the Guardians were crafted by human hands many ages ago. They are not statues, but machines — mechanical warriors that move autonomously, ready to aid their masters at a moment’s notice. Over one hundred years ago, the Guardians roamed Hyrule freely, offering protection to the people across the land. Repulsing monsters, standing guard at villages, patrolling roads — they were built to protect, and they did it exceptionally. Now, they are scattered across Hyrule, some still mobile, others broken down, yet ever vigilant.”

Link, awed by the old man’s words, listened intently. But something was bothering him. Blinking, he wondered, “But if they were made to protect people, then why did that Guardian attack you? Was it malfunctioning?”

A slight pause. “...In a way, yes,” the old man shrugged. “But I cannot explain it in such simple terms. No, to understand the full truth, then you must know what happened one hundred years ago.” Link’s ears had just perked up when the old man continued, “But I’d rather not discuss it here. I think you may want to be seated when I tell you. With your memory being as fragile as it is, I fear the truth may overwhelm you.”

Memory? What did the old man know of Link’s memory? His words confused Link, but he shook it off, prodding, “And why is that?”

The old man finally turned his head to face him, his aged eyes brimming with grief. “It pertains to the desolation wrought by Calamity Ganon… More importantly, how it razed Hyrule to ruin, and possibly, how you became the creature you are now.” The old man looked him in the eye for a few seconds before wrenching gaze away, his lips pursing.

So he did know the beast.

A chill darted through Link’s blood at that. There was that word, again. _Creature._ He tried to fight it off, but their first meeting reared its head once more in his mind, bringing with it the words that had crushed his hopes. Monstrosity, devil, abomination... and the scorn in the old man’s eyes. He couldn’t escape the image of the beast that polluted his mind, then. His gaze wandered down to his hand, to the bones glowing through his transparent skin.

He ground his jaw, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I see,” he croaked.

Another silence followed, undertoned by the soft brushing of Link’s feet against the grass. Link’s mind was too foggy to notice that the old man’s footfalls were distinctly absent.

Even if the old man had seen Link’s reaction, he paid no heed to it. After a moment, he murmured, “Come. We’re nearly there.”

They walked on in silence for a short while before Link spotted the silhouette of the cabin through the aspens. Rounding a small knoll, they came around to the dirt-clod courtyard. In many ways, the cabin resembled the old man himself: it towered over its surroundings, weathered, aged, and rough, relying on a piece of nature for support. In the cabin’s case, it was a rugged boulder, composing the southern wall and holding up logs bound together with thick rope. An overturned log sat by a charred fire pit equipped with a cast iron cooking pot, all near the empty doorway into the cabin.

The old man paused in the courtyard, Link coming to a stop beside him. He didn’t so much as glance at Link when he gestured with his walking stick to the log by the fire pit, inviting him to make himself comfortable.

“Please, have a seat,” he said. “I will be out shortly. Then, we will talk.” With that, he turned and trudged into the cabin.

Link did as he was told, but not without his spine stiffening. He seated himself on the log, hanging his head and staring into his hands. Eager as he was to finally have some answers, he was beginning to grow anxious of this meeting, expecting the worst. Part of him believed that the old man would help him — after all, he seemed apologetic after Link saved him from the Guardian. But all the same, something about the old man didn’t feel right — even with his apology, Link still could sense his constant scrutiny and caution. In the end, Link supposed he’d have to hope for the best and see what came of it.

The old man emerged from the cabin a few moments later with a woven basket in his arms. Bringing it to the fire pit, he knelt and began unpacking its contents: a chunk of flint, a small pot of water, two bird’s eggs and a bundle of rice, a wooden spoon, and a single ceramic bowl.

Link looked over the ingredients, confused at the small portion sizes. “Won’t you be eating, too? I’d... hate to have you cook just for me.”

As the old man struck sparks onto the firewood, he replied, “Perhaps later. I am not terribly hungry at the moment.” He then added with a sheepish shrug, “...I hope you like eggs and rice. I’m not much of a cook, myself — this is all I know how to make. It’s a wonder I’ve made it this far, really.”

Link chuckled a bit, watching small ribbons of fire burn to life on the blackened firewood. Even with his feast of apples before, his stomach turned in anticipation. “That sounds wonderful, actually. Thank you very much… er…”

Something then dawned on Link: he didn’t even know the old man’s name. In their interactions, it had never occurred to him to ask it.

Shoulders hunkering, Link bit his lip, muttering, “I’m sorry, but I just realized I never found out your name. Yet... you somehow knew mine. Tell me, what is it? I wanted to thank you properly for doing this for me.”

After pouring the water and rice into the pot, the old man turned his head to face him, offering up a wan smile. “Polite as always. I knew you had forgotten me, Link,” he said, the warm familiarity in his voice a complete tonal shift. It left Link stunned. “I simply failed to realize how faded your memories would be after your hundred-year slumber.”

Link blinked. Wait — how did the old man know that? Link had heard that from the girl, before, not the old man. Before Link could prod him for more information, the old man provided him with the answers he had been seeking.

“But enough riddles,” the old man began. “I suppose the time has come to show you who I truly am. I have kept you in the dark long enough.”

Link leaned back, eyes wide. The old man rose to his feet; Link couldn’t help but follow. Collecting his thoughts, the old man turned his eyes to the sky, where they rested for a moment, gazing into nothing. As he stared into the heavens, eyes swam with memories and tragedy and time.

Finally, he began, “I was King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule. I was… the last leader of Hyrule.” His eyes then sank into the ground, his voice faltering. “A kingdom which no longer exists.”

A sudden burst of light seared Link’s eyes as he watched the old man. Bizarrely enough, it seemed to gleam from the old man himself. Link brought his hand up to shield his eyes, twisting them shut with a grunt, but the light faded as quickly as it came on. Puzzled, he reopened them, only to discover that the man in front of him had completely transformed.

Link’s jaw dropped, and he let out a gasp. The old man’s dark overcoat and hood had melted away to reveal a tall, broad man dressed in a stately blue coat trimmed with gold. A naggingly-familiar, triangular crest adorned his shining belt, with a winged, gold crown encrusted with rubies topping his head, poised above a billowing cascade of snow-white hair. A familiar beard poured down his chest, his entire body alight with a pale, ethereal glow. Wisps of ghostly fire flickered around him, and he hovered effortlessly a few inches above the ground, looking down on Link through exhausted, crystalline-blue eyes.

Link suddenly lost strength in his legs; he sunk into the log, stunned at the sight before him.

“You’re… you’re a spirit,” Link breathed. “All this time… You weren’t really there.”

That certainly explained the old man’s disappearance, as well as his inhumanly-swift movements. As he gazed upon the spirit of the last king of Hyrule, Link thought he was hallucinating for a moment, but no matter how many times he blinked, the apparition before him remained.

“In body, no, but in spirit… yes,” King Rhoam replied with a nod. “I knew you would not recognize me in my true state, so I thought it best to assume a temporary, simple form. I hope you can forgive me for lying to you.” Frowning, he shook his head. “No, one hundred years ago, when the Great Calamity ravaged our beloved Hyrule to dust… it was then that my life was taken from me.” Shadows bloomed beneath his eyes, his shoulders falling. “And since that fated day, I have remained here, in spirit form — doomed to walk the burning fields, to watch my kingdom crumble into nothing, powerless against the merciless march of time.”

Goosebumps erupted over Link’s skin. “What happened?” he gasped. “How did it happen? H-how could it?”

Rhoam tilted his head pensively. “I’ve asked myself that very question for one hundred years; exhausted my mind with every possible action, every change we could have made. In the end, we did everything we could to avoid the impending catastrophe.” He sighed. “And yet, our efforts were for naught. We did not learn from our land’s history, and were thus fated to repeat it… with bloody consequences.”

Link, growing more and more numb with each word, found his mind squirming as the King spoke. He could scarcely breathe — all he could do was listen, enraptured by the history of a land he couldn’t remember.

The King began his tale, “I was always a skeptical man, even in my childhood — I didn’t believe in the fairy tales that were so oft spoken throughout Hyrule. No, the stories of a knight chosen by a sacred sword, of a princess blessed with a sealing power, and their conflicts with a demon king... they were fantasy to me. Bedtime stories. In all my years as King, I never thought such stories would walk off their pages and into my reign. That was, until I heard the prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” Link repeated.

“Yes, a prophecy passed down through the Sheikah tribe from generation to generation, imparted unto me by a young Sheikah, Impa.”

The King then recited from memory the words of a dark divination, making Link’s skin crawl, “ _‘The signs of a resurrection of Calamity Ganon are clear: the earth will shake and travail, spawning hordes of restless monsters, howling and terrorizing beneath the rays of a bloody moon. The power to oppose the beast lies dormant beneath the ground._ _Uncover_ _it, and Hyrule will be set free.’”_

Link listened, transfixed, as the King went on, “I thought it to be no more than another legend, but as the signs began to manifest themselves, I took heed, and ordered mass excavations all throughout Hyrule. It wasn’t long before we discovered a treasure trove of ancient relics, preserved for us by our distant ancestors.”

“The Guardians?” Link interjected, pieces of history clicking together in his head.

“Indeed,” the King agreed. “And we found yet more. In addition to our armies of Guardians, we also unearthed four colossal machines from each corner of the continent. They were the Divine Beasts: Vah Ruta, Vah Rudania, Vah Medoh, and Vah Naboris, each named after a legendary figure in Hyrule’s vast history, piloted by champions of old. These Divine Beasts, as well as the Guardians, coincided with a ten-thousand-year-old legend whispered over time, and we relished in our findings with fascination. It was clear that we were meant to follow the path of our ancestors.”

“So you found the Guardians, the Divine Beasts… what happened then?” Link asked.

The king responded, “We then selected four skilled individuals from across Hyrule and tasked them with piloting the Divine Beasts, each chosen for their devotion, vigilance, confidence, and spirit. Just as they rose, so did the princess with the sealing power, as well as her appointed knight with the sword that seals the darkness. With the princess as their commander, we dubbed these individuals Champions — a name that would solidify their unique bond. And so it was, our vanguard against calamity, awaiting the hour when they would seal the beast away…

“But nay…” Rhoam sighed, his eyes closing, visions of that dreaded day burning within his mind. “Ganon was cunning, and he responded with a plan beyond our imagining. We were paralyzed to react as he bursted out from below Hyrule Castle, sending out his vile claws to seize control of the Guardians and the Divine Beasts. One by one, our mechanical allies were infested by his Malice, and turned against us.

“They devastated villages to skeletal ashes, annihilating every soul in their path with a voracious appetite. The Champions were slain within their Divine Beasts, and the appointed knight, gravely wounded, was stricken down while defending the princess. Like a fell flood, the Guardians surged through the doors of Hyrule Castle, purging its halls of all life in a matter of minutes. My guards, Hylia rest their souls, protected me to the death — they were incinerated in their armor, leaving me cornered in my own throne room at the cruel mercy of a corrupted Guardian…”

Rhoam reopened his eyes and gazed at Link, who had gone completely cold. “With a single beam of deadly light, my life was snuffed out, along with the lives of thousands of innocent people across the land. Within the span of an afternoon, the kingdom of Hyrule was devastated absolutely.”

Link shuddered, his bones rattling and his mouth hanging open. He thought that to be the end, but the King continued, his voice weak, “However, in spite of everything… the princess survived. And amidst the dead strewn in the streets, she made her way to the castle to face Ganon alone. It was she who halted the Great Calamity in its tracks, stifling the beast’s wrath, and imprisoning it for the coming century.”

The King’s spirit dimmed for a moment, his head hanging. His hands rolled into fists. “That princess was my own daughter…” Rhoam lamented, his voice breaking. “My dear, sweet Zelda…”

Link’s heart gave a heavy _thump_ at the name. He hoked on his shallow breath. Her name. Zelda. Princess Zelda. He finally knew it — the name belonging to the gentle voice that had reached out to him in his time of need. It brought a comforting warmth to him after hearing of the harrowing fall of Hyrule. It was fitting name — as soft and beautiful as the grace she so readily gave him.

His mind was so unraveled at the revelation of her name that he nearly didn’t hear Rhoam’s next words, but he snapped back into reality just in time.

Rhoam continued, “And the courageous knight, who tore through legions of Guardians to protect her to the very end… that knight was none other than you, Link.”

Link, astonished, took his chin back, his eyes widening. “ _Me?_ I was Zelda’s knight?”

“Indeed, and you were Hyrule’s finest, hand-picked from the ranks of the royal guard when I witnessed firsthand your heroic prowess.” Rhoam’s eyes clouded over as he thought back on a distant memory. “It was during a field test of a Guardian — even our brightest minds struggled to make them move, and in a freak accident, the Guardian unleashed a volley of powerful beams in every direction.”

He smiled at Link. “Thankfully, you were there. Had you not been, I would not have lived to see the day I appointed you as my daughter’s knight. Everyone ducked and scattered, but I was distracted. As a Guardian beam sailed toward me, you scooped up a pot lid — ” the King paused, chuckling, “ — a humble pot lid of all things, and leapt before the beam to deflect it away from me.

“When I saw you perform the very same act just now, I knew you were the knight I had chosen for my daughter… though your appearance said otherwise.” He inspected Link from head to toe where he sat, making him shift a little.

“Now, I have brought back to your memory the demise of Hyrule. I have answered your questions. You must answer me this,” the King began lowly; Link straightened, listening. “When you emerged from the Shrine of Resurrection in your current state, I believed Ganon to be toying with me. When we parted ways, I went back to the Shrine, to see for myself. I found the Shrine in shambles, aglow with an evil light and its sole occupant missing.” His eyes tightening, he prodded, “Tell me, how did this happen? Why are you thus?”

Link, sweating beneath the King’s stern gaze, grasped at whatever explanation he thought he might have had, but found nothing of worth. He didn’t know why he had woken in his monstrous form, but he had a suspicion it was Ganon’s doing. After all, their glaring similarities were apparent to even the passive eye.

He sighed, cupping his palms around the jagged, bony mask enshrouding his face. “I’m sorry, King Rhoam,” he murmured. “But... I don’t know. I can’t remember what happened during the Calamity, what Ganon did… but I would give _anything_ to find out.” He brought his trio of eyes up to the King, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know why I’m a monster.”

The King frowned, his hopes dashed. “I feared as much. Though I initially believed you were nothing more than a beast, I see now that I was grossly wrong. Link,” he said firmly, capturing the young man’s gaze. “I offer up my sincerest apologies for making you feel like such a mongrel. I hope you can grow to forgive me and my poor judgements.

“I see now that you not are a monster; you are far from it, in fact. However, I worry that you could descend to become one, should you let Ganon overshadow you. It appears he has somehow managed to worm his way inside of you, and into the Sheikah Slate as well. Though you carry him with you, you cannot allow him any more dominion than he already has. If you do, Hyrule is doomed.”

Hearing those words from the King himself both filled Link with hope, and curdled his blood. Spine shuddering, his fingers automatically clenched into fists, and he brought them close to himself, body stiff and heart thudding. His stomach writhed against the reality that Calamity Ganon was _inside him._ Part of him wanted desperately to throw up, but his rational mind knew there would be more to purging the beast from his body than that. The thought of it was nothing less than torture.

Link finally asked, his voice shaking, “What do you suggest I do, my King?”

Rhoam sighed. “Considering that I could not save my own kingdom, I have no right to ask this of you, Link… but you must finish what was started one hundred years ago.” Link gazed earnestly into the King’s eyes as he gave his advice. “Reclaim the Divine Beasts. Kill the source of Malice. Do whatever it takes to annihilate Ganon, and erase his blot from our fair land. Perhaps then, his hold over you will fall, and you will be cleansed. But you mustn’t rush the castle, now — it would be suicide. It would be best for you to prepare to face him, first.”

The King turned and drifted aside, pointing a finger beyond the cabin. Link followed, his eyes falling on the twin peaks far off from the plateau. “I suggest you make your way east, out to one of the villages in the wastes. Kakariko Village, home of the Sheikah. Follow the road north — there you will find the elder, Impa.” His voice softened at the mention of her. “Impa is an old friend, and one of my most treasured advisors. She will tell you more about the path that lies ahead of you. Should you get lost along the way, I trust your Sheikah Slate will guide you. I could never make sense of it, but before the Calamity, you and Zelda traveled Hyrule with it at your sides.”

Link’s hand found the Slate as the King spoke. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it seemed to warm beneath his grip. It suddenly had more meaning to him. He’d keep it close, even if it had been corrupted by Ganon.

With his journey laid out before him, Link had one final question. “Thank you for the guidance, King Rhoam,” he began, bowing his head in respect for the spirit. “But... do you happen to know a way off the plateau? I couldn’t seem to find a way down, myself.”

The King smiled again. “I admire your dedication in the face of adversity, Link. You haven’t changed in that regard. Come, join me in the cabin. I have the solution you seek.” Turning, Link followed Rhoam as he drifted across the courtyard and through the empty doorway of the cabin.

When they stepped inside, Link’s eyes were overwhelmed, flying everywhere at once. It appeared, while in the guise of the old man, that Rhoam had been gathering supplies from across the plateau. Tucked into every possible corner and placed on every shelf and table were bundles of mushrooms and truffles, baskets of apples, smoked fish hung on hooks on the walls, even weapons and shields laid about: woodcutting axes, rusted broadswords, spare pot lids and age-crusted shields.

“I gathered all of this for you, Link. I wanted to be of use to you when you woke from your slumber,” the King said as he floated above his collection. Link’s breath caught, amazed at his kindness. Rhoam gestured his arms around the cabin, continuing, “Before you leave the plateau, feel free to take anything you wish. Just ensure that you take these above all else…”

From beneath a rickety bed in the corner, Rhoam removed two objects for Link. He presented them to him, neatly folded in his ghostly hands. At the top of the pile sat a black hood with a small cape fluttering at the back. Beneath it, a broad sail crafted from cloth and sturdy wood and rope, emblazoned with a winged crest.

“A paraglider…!” Link gasped, stunned by the simplicity of its design. With it, he could effortlessly glide from plateau to the mainland below. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of that sooner. As for the hood, he was even more grateful — it would help to hide most of his frightening face from view of others.

Link looked up from his gifts to the King, beaming with gratitude. “My King… I don’t know what to say.”

Rhoam looked upon him with a new, shining hope in his eyes. “You needn’t say anything, Link, but say what you will through your actions.” His brows knit together. “Make me a promise here and now, that with these tools, you will journey into Hyrule, free the Divine Beasts from Ganon, and deliver Zelda out of his clutches. Promise me that, and my soul will be eased.”

Link gave a strong nod. He didn’t hesitate for a second. “I promise,” he said firmly.

A relieved smile found the King’s lips. For several moments, they fell silent, the only sound the wind through the grass outside. Eventually, the King locked eyes with Link again, only then, his eyes had fallen solemn.

“You said before… that you heard her voice,” he began, his voice feeble. “I haven’t heard her voice in one hundred years. Tell me… how is she…? My Zelda?”

Link’s mouth firmed into a line. “She sounded weak... She needs help.”

“Her power must be waning,” Rhoam said solemnly. “You mustn’t delay.” His posture visibly wilting, he then implored Link, “Please. From a hapless King and a failed father, please… You must save her… my daughter.”

Link swallowed. “I will,” Link promised.

King Rhoam paused before responding, gazing upon Link with the utmost faith and mourning. He gingerly reached out a hand and laid it on Link’s shoulder. A bitter breath of air chilled Link’s skin through the thin material of his shirt at the spirit’s touch.

King Rhoam sighed, his eyes glistening. “Though you may not remember who you once were, remember this: you are our final hope, Link,” the King said, staring Link straight in the eye. “The fate of Hyrule rests with you.”

Then, in a shimmering sigh of light, the last king of Hyrule faded into nothing before Link’s eyes, leaving him alone.

Link stood in the cabin for several moments, King Rhoam’s face still in his mind. He tucked the paraglider and hood close to his chest, his body shaking without his control. Swallowing a lump of anxiety in his throat, he cast a glance around the cabin’s stock, taking mental note of all that he’d be taking with him.

Before he stocked up for the journey off the plateau, Link stepped back outside, shakily striding over to the log and setting down the hood and paraglider. He was about to slip the hood on when something caught his eye, stopping him in the act.

There, on the log, sat a single ceramic bowl filled with fluffy white rice, and topped with two golden, gooey, over-easy eggs, a spoon draped across them.

Link smiled.


	6. A Sight for Sore Eyes

As Link secured the last strap of his bulging travel bag, he paused and took a final look around the cabin. Though he hadn’t been there for long, he was a bit sad to be leaving so soon. The cabin’s walls were mostly barren, now — a sight that left him with an odd mix of security and loneliness. Now that he had cleaned the place out, it seemed as though Rhoam had gone with it, leaving the cabin as nothing more than an abandoned, lifeless structure in the woods.

All the same, Link appreciated his new belongings. The food was a blessing; he couldn’t wait to dig into his smoked fish that night for dinner. And he certainly felt more prepared to face the dangers of the wild with his new axe, the rusted swords, and his extra pot lid “shields.” Though he had gone, the ghost of King Rhoam had generously given Link the first steps he needed to set out into Hyrule, and for that, he was deeply grateful.

Seated on a tree stump by the dining table, Link took one last stock of his bags, three in total, laid at his feet. In spite of the anxiety swirling in his gut, he felt ready to journey off of the plateau with everything he had. What he’d find out there, he wasn’t sure. All he had left to do was shoulder his supplies and find out.

Fastening the clasp on his new hood, he set to work hoisting his bags up by their weathered leather straps. The weight of it all on his back was ample, yet workable — he knew he wouldn’t have trouble traveling. Before he left the cabin altogether, he rinsed out the ceramic bowl and spoon in the courtyard and tucked them in with his rations. Paraglider in-hand, Link left the empty cabin at his back and walked through the grass to the rugged edge of the plateau.

It was time.

A kickup of wind cleaved around him as he stood on the edge, looking out over the mist below to the mainland. It was so close, and yet, felt so far. He bunkered himself against the wind whipping at his hair, his jaw glued together and his heart fluttering at the imposing height he was about to leap from. Even with the paraglider, he felt unstable, teetering on slipping.

But the sooner he jumped, the sooner he’d feel better — at least, that was what he kept telling himself. He wasn’t looking forward to doing this, but it had to be done if he was to help Zelda.

The thought of her inspirited him with courage from nowhere. Swallowing his fear, Link took a few steps back, gripping the paraglider above his head with white-knuckled fists, sucking in a breath and holding it. After hesitating for only a moment, he took off at a sprint toward the ledge, kicking off of it before dropping like a boulder into the mist clinging to the cliffside.

A scream lodged itself inside him as his stomach rocketed into his throat. He fell, wind howling around him, for several breakneck seconds before his arms tightened, bending the paraglider into position — the wind snagged in the sail, slowing Link’s rapid descent with a firm _thwack_ that whiplashed his head into his pack.

Though still falling, his head spun at the realization that he was now safely adrift on the air. A nice alternative to plummeting to his death, yes, but even so, a wheezy groan of panic squeaked out of him, his face frozen in terror. It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out. Heart galloping in his chest, he clung to the paraglider for dear life, watching his feet dangle above the scenery growing closer and closer below. Even if he had the fortitude to steer his descent, he wouldn’t have wanted to, for fear he would lose his grip. Thankfully, there were no trees in his flight path to crash into. He simply held on, praying a rogue gust of wind wouldn’t send him careening back into the plateau.

When he finally glided down to an open field on the mainland, his legs buckled worthlessly beneath him, and he tumbled to the ground in a heap. Solid ground! He was glad that was over. Link let himself lie there, smashed beneath his packs — over the course of a minute or two, he slowly regained his lucidity, taking in the smell of the grass and listening to the crickets chorusing nearby. Breathing deeply in and out, he finally got ahold of his resolve and shakily eased himself up, looking around.

At last — Hyrule. He felt abruptly insignificant amidst the vast, overgrown landscape spreading endlessly around him in all directions. Far across the flowing hills crowned with small forests and the low clouds hugging the horizon lay the silhouettes of Hyrule Castle and the volcano, as well as his destination: the twin peaks. Standing, he gauged the distance by eye — the walk over to them wouldn’t prove _terribly_ long. He definitely wanted to make it there before the day was out.

Casting a glance to the sky, he noted that the hour was sometime in the late afternoon, the sun roughly halfway down from its apex. Link didn’t want to risk traveling around at night with the little bearings that he had — he needed to get moving. Shaking off some residual adrenaline from the glide down, he folded up the paraglider and slid it onto his back. After pulling his hood over his head, he turned toward a dirt road a short walk down a hill, and set off following it north toward the peaks.

Now that he was on the ground, Link took the time to fully appreciate just how colossal the great plateau was. It loomed above him a distance off, an impenetrable titan dominating the local terrain. Through the halo of haze surrounding it, he ran his eyes over the crumbling stone bastions dripping from its ridged faces, dissolving into piles of rubble at the plateau’s base. He could barely make out the church at the top; it was smudgy at that distance, yet its steeples were recognizable. He wondered if he’d ever see it again.

Part of him wanted to. The peace he had felt there had taken his breath away. However, the church had also been the place where he had first witnessed his new face. He’d give anything to forget the all-encompassing horror that had overcome him at that moment.

Oh, the thought of his face… His wicked, shocking face. It made his stomach twist. As his shoes scratched against the dirt road, he brought a hand up to feel his bony mask, running a finger over the fangs lining it. He remembered King Rhoam’s reaction to it in stark detail — judging by his reaction, Link wasn’t looking forward to facing other people. He figured his hood would disguise him well enough from a distance, but up close was another story. He prayed he wouldn’t send the people of Kakariko screaming before he had the chance to ask for their help.

But he supposed he’d burn that bridge when he came to it.

Link was so lost in thought that, before long, the trail around him began to change without him noticing. His brows crinkled — he felt as though he were shrinking, the banks of grass at either side of the road sloping up drastically. The rightmost bank crescendoed into a broad, lofty hill with a dilapidated building at its crest, and up ahead, the road cut off and split into two. He wasn’t sure what awaited him at the juncture, and he didn’t want to get himself lost — he thought it best to climb the hill to get a better view of the area.

Taking a detour, Link scaled the lumpy hill, coming to face the sagging brick building at the top. It appeared to have once been a lookout point, but it had since fallen into disarray. The shredded remnants of a tarp and a long-forgotten campfire lay strewn in the foundation, overlooking an impressive view of the surrounding landscape. A quick search of the place yielded nothing of value, however.

Link took a brief moment to survey the area. To his left sat the remains of an outpost of some sort, its various structures deteriorated to mere walls. A lone flagpole with a long, shredded flag watched over the ruins, flowing eerily in the breeze, almost waving at him.

The dirt road ran through the outpost before curving along the perimeter of the plateau and disappearing into the distance. Link’s eyes followed the eastern stretch of the trail as it snaked its way through the hills and across a bridge spanning a distant river. Further off, it followed the river before it hit what looked like a blockade at the mouth of the towering twin peaks. Link squinted, but he couldn’t make out anything more than some rough fencing.

Nearly there already. He was making great time, though he wasn’t sure what awaited him at the twin peaks. Eager to see more of Hyrule, Link quickly skidded down the hill and back onto the road, his equipment bouncing against his back.

His confidence in his progress didn’t last long, utterly dissolving when he climbed the steps to the bridge. He had gotten so used to being alone that the sight of another human being shocked him more than it should have. All things considered, the only other person he had met that day was, in fact, a spirit, so he felt that his reaction wasn’t _completely_ abnormal. Still, he wanted to jump off the bridge and swim across the river below if it meant avoiding the person patrolling it.

They didn’t look threatening by any means — just an average man in travel clothes with a wooden spear in-hand. No, Link was simply terrified of meeting anyone face-to-face in his current state; the last thing he wanted was to unintentionally terrorize someone. Maybe if he just kept his head down and passed by quietly, the man wouldn’t notice his face? That seemed like a good plan. It was all he had at the minute. His hands tightening into fists, Link ducked his head, speed-walking across the bridge, already breaking out into a nervous sweat.

 _Please, don’t look any closer than you have to…_ Link plead internally.

The bridge seemed to go on forever. As Link and the stranger passed each other, the only bits of him Link saw were his shoes and the shaft of his spear. The stranger’s gait slowed however slightly as Link sped by, tugging his hood over his face.

“Afternoon!” the man greeted sunnily.

All Link could respond with was, “A-afternoon!” his voice cracking.

With that friendly interaction behind him, Link practically sprinted off of the bridge, barely catching himself as his foot skidded on the last step, and he nearly plunged his face into the ground. If the stranger hadn’t been watching him before, he definitely was then. All Link could do was hold tight to whatever pride he had left and press on along the road, forgetting he ever crossed the bridge.

He made it a good distance away before he risked a glance over his shoulder. The stranger didn’t seem to care much for him and his antics, continuing his march across the bridge and back again, whistling a jaunty tune. Link breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped all of his interactions with strangers in the wild went as smoothly as that.

Link spent the next leg of his journey following the curvature of the river flowing alongside the road. It was a rather wide river, too deep to trudge through and quick enough to sweep you away. He caught a few glimpses of fish leaping out of the water as he walked. The road followed the river at a respectable distance — close enough to hear it rush along and watch the midafternoon sunlight glitter off of its currents.

Moving with the land, he watched the twin peaks grow bigger and bigger until they dominated the horizon, bearing down upon him like a pair of judges. Even from a fair distance, he was intrigued to find that their grey, uneven edges almost fit together like puzzle pieces.

For a moment, Link seemed to recall a legend about a dragon splitting a single mountain into two identical halves. He cocked his head, confused — where had that thought come from? He wasn’t entirely sure, but it was a rather fantastical idea to tease as he took them in in their entirety before he dared approach the blockade at their maw.

Pausing, Link’s stomach dropped when his eyes fell upon it. On either side of the riverbank was a low, crudely-built wall, erected from brambles and sharpened logs, held together with rope. Four men patrolled the wall, toting swords, spears, and shields, each equipped with light leather breastplates. From the looks of things, it appeared that they were trying to keep something out.

Link stood frozen in his place for what felt like ages, his knees shaking. So many people… What was he going to do to get by? He shuddered at the thought of speaking face-to-face with them; he didn’t want to end up on the wrong end of a weapon again. With his face, he knew it was almost inevitable. But perhaps, if he kept his head down, he could just walk by, like he had with the guard on the bridge

He didn’t get the chance to deliberate further before one of the guards finally took notice of him. The guard paused his patrol and squinted at Link, examining him from head to toe, searching him for any inhuman features. Truth be told, he was looking for horns, claws, fangs. Thankfully, Link’s own monstrous features were mostly hidden, his humanoid figure clearing him of suspicion.

“You there!” the guard shouted, making Link jump out of his skin. “Do you require passage?”

Link swallowed hard, gathering his voice. “Y-yes!” he replied.

The man looked to his fellow guards before he stepped back, pushing open a gate Link hadn’t seen, revealing the path through the twin peaks. Lowering his sword, the guard gestured behind him. “Go on, then. We’ll watch your back.”

Link nearly fainted from relief. He didn’t linger any longer than he had to, just about breaking into a sprint to get out of their presence. Just as before, he kept his head ducked low, his hood masking his face from view.

As he passed by the guard, the man offered him a warning, “Watch yourself. There are monsters about!”

All Link could reply with was a wheezy acknowledgement and a faint nod.

The blockade was quickly shut behind Link, leaving him alone to the twin peaks. Passing through their colossal shadows, Link’s anxiety from his encounter with the guards gradually dissolved as he walked. Taking in the surrounding walls of stone, he suddenly felt as though he were being swallowed by some monumental beast. Perhaps the dragon that had crossed his mind? He shook his head at that, smiling faintly. Dragon or not, he figured his trek through the peaks wouldn’t last very long — the wide river had funneled itself into a flowing ribbon of water, flanked on either side by lush riverbanks that shot through the divide for roughly a mile. He could already see another blockade at the other end. He wasn’t looking forward to visiting that one, but he hoped if he moved quickly he’d be fine.

As he walked by the riverside, Link began to grow curious as to where Kakariko was exactly, and how much further he had to go. King Rhoam hadn’t specified an exact location, but just as Zelda had said, he too had mentioned that the Sheikah Slate would guide him. Link supposed now was a good enough time as any to get to know his Sheikah Slate. Pulling it off of his belt, he held it in both hands below his nose, giving it a look over.

When his gaze met the dark screen, it blinked to life, greeting him with the reddened eye symbol. It still unnerved him, but it didn’t remain on the screen to stare him down, fading as quickly as it appeared. With a pleasant blip, the eye revealed an intricate topographical map that, incredibly, _moved with Link_ as he strode down the road. He was depicted as a tiny, glowing yellow marker on the interface, slowly drifting along the trail through the peaks.

Blinking in astonishment, Link gave it a few tests, stopping and stepping again, amazed at its one-to-one accuracy and attention to detail. The map captured every ridge and basin and bend of the land with laser-like precision, offering him a bird’s eye view of Hyrule at his fingertips.

Curious if he could interact with it more, Link tapped a finger on the screen and dragged the map away from his marker, exposing the trail ahead. As he did so, his eyes widened as words began to appear on the map, naming locations and landmarks. The words were comprised of odd-looking, geometric glyphs, but Link found that he could understand them perfectly. In the span of a few seconds, he learned exactly where he was and where he was going — he walked between the Dueling Peaks nestled in Western Necluda; just outside the peaks lay a stable, and up a curving road from there… Kakariko Village.

“Would you look at that…” Link breathed, admiring the Slate in a new light. Now that he knew just how useful it was, he would definitely keep it closer to him. Who knew what it could do in the wrong hands?

Now intrigued by his new tool, Link was about to continue exploring the map when a strange sound emitted from the Slate — it resembled a deep, billowing groan, mighty and thunderous, rolling along the walls of the Dueling Peaks around him. Without warning, the Slate’s screen flickered, making Link slow to a stop, puzzled. He stared at the Slate, wondering again if he had broken it. That would have been just his luck.

But then the strange sound came again, followed by a violent gust of wind and a shadow that blocked out the sun entirely, deluging him in darkness. Link rapidly realized that the sound hadn’t issued from the Slate, but rather from somewhere above him. All at once, his hair shot straight up on the back of his neck — Link jerked his attention overhead, his body giving an involuntary jolt at what he found there.

It was so huge he couldn’t make out what it actually was — an enormous shadow curled along the vein of sky between the peaks, easily as long as the peaks themselves, and barely wide enough to fit between them. Veins of deep violet glowed along its underside, painted with great swells of pitch-black mire, coating it like a disease. It undulated overhead in an almost serpentine fashion, the sound of its pained groans rattling Link’s bones. Frozen beneath its great shadow, he only then noticed that the thing had legs and feet — three sets of each, bony and skinny, ending in honed talons. It swam through the air in a haste, its cries echoing off of the peaks hauntingly.

As it drifted by overhead, something thick and heavy dropped onto Link’s hood with a _slap,_ like an immense raindrop. He brought a hand up to investigate, pulling away to find his fingers completely coated in a familiar dark ooze, flecks of magenta light glowing within it; the sludge rained from the creature all along the trail in puddles, burning the grass and sending plumes of black smog into the air.

Link’s shock at seeing more of Ganon’s Malice kept him from wiping it off of his hand in time — he was powerless to do anything but stare as the sludge leaked through his skin and inside him, ice shooting into his veins.

He gasped, bordering on hyperventilating, jerking his gaze from his hand to the creature in the sky. Whatever-that-thing was… it had been corrupted by Ganon, just as he was. He looked on after it as it began to leave him behind — as pained as it sounded to be, it seemed to be in a rush to go somewhere. Its head had already left the Dueling Peaks, its long body following suit.

Nearly out of the divide himself, Link clenched his fist and hooked his Sheikah Slate on his belt, breaking into a mad sprint after the corrupted creature. He had to do something to help it.

Somehow, he managed to keep decent pace with it. Without pausing, Link bursted through the blockade on the other end in his pursuit, the guards nearby barely paying him any heed. Link and the creature’s violet, crystal-encrusted tail emerged from the divide together. But try as he might, there was virtually no way of getting up to it. He didn’t have wings. Even so, Link kept his eyes trained on it as it began to climb higher in the sky, gaining momentum.

It was then that he caught a brief glimpse of its face, finally identifying it: the mysterious creature was, in actuality, a _dragon._ But there was something disturbingly wrong with it: its mouth hung open in a perpetual scream, its eyes wide in fear and its long ears flopping as it tossed its crystalline mane around. It was Link’s final look at it that had him digging his heels into the ground, his heart giving a weighty _thud._ Sprouting from the back of its skull was a grotesque, gigantic eyeball, its slitted, amber pupil focused directly on him.

Link choked. Ganon’s eye. It hadn’t shown itself by chance. It knew what it wrought; it had brought the dragon there to flaunt its achievements, and it relished in Link’s slack-jawed reception of it.

Link was suddenly out of breath and doubled over as he was seized by sudden vertigo, swaying on his feet. He sunk to one knee, breathing heavily against his sprint, as well as Ganon’s influence churning inside him. As he watched the corrupted dragon shrink into the distant sky, he couldn’t help but feel like it was bidding him follow it. But where was it going?

Raising the Slate, he aimed it at the dragon’s retreating silhouette, hoping it could somehow help him. To his aid, the screen flashed from its map and to a zoomed-in, real-time image of the dragon, almost as if through a telescope. It appeared the dragon was headed for a tall, snow-covered mountaintop enshrouded in fog many miles away. Link blinked when the Slate displayed more text against the image, labeling the distant mountain as Mt. Lanayru.

Lanayru… The name tugged at Link's brain, though he couldn’t name why.

Link bit his lip. As much as his heart ached to help the dragon, the mountain was simply too far away. He had other engagements at the moment. Jotting down a mental note of Mt. Lanayru, and the poor creature that would retreat to it, he vowed he would find that mountain and do whatever he could to purge Ganon from its body.

Perhaps that would cleanse him as well? He supposed he’d find out in time.

With the dragon well out of his reach, Link reverted to his original task: finding Kakariko. Judging from his map, it was close; he’d easily reach it just as the low-hanging sun began to set.

Regaining his bearings, he took a quick survey of the area. Behind him stood the blockade, also manned by a few guards. Further ahead, beside the dirt road, stood a stable. It was an interesting building in and of itself, surrounded by a paddock and topped with a giant, ramshackle sculpture of a horse’s head. Link could smell the hay and livestock from where he stood. He wasn’t planning on introducing himself — thankfully for him, both the guards at the blockade and the four occupants of the stable had no interest in him, either, their gazes craned to the sky in search of something.

Faintly, Link overheard a few of them gawking.

“What'n Hylia’s name was that?! Did ya see anything?!” one shouted.

“Nuh-uh!” another replied, flabbergasted. “Just a big ol’ shadow… and no clouds in the sky to cast it!”

 _Strange,_ Link thought. How could they have missed the dragon?

Whether they had seen it or not didn’t matter. Instead of hanging about, Link skirted around the stable, giving it a wide berth before rejoining the road as it proceeded north. He followed it up a hill that grew steeper and steeper the higher he climbed, eventually crossing another stone bridge that was, thankfully, unoccupied by a patrolman. He quickly ran across it and hiked up the rapidly-inclining hill leading into the embrace of a rocky mountain range.

Somewhere in the mountains lay Kakariko, and though Link initially held anxiety in meeting the people there, the sight of the corrupted dragon had stirred some courage within him. He couldn’t bear to watch anything else suffer at the beast’s hand. He needed to kill Ganon’s influence from Hyrule as soon as he could, and that meant overcoming his fears. If King Rhoam trusted the people in Kakariko, then Link would, too.

Before long, Link’s calves were burning after hiking up the steep incline for a while, beads of sweat trailing down his neck. He was about to consult his map for Kakariko’s location when he spotted several man-made structures ahead — tall, thin wooden gateposts, each engraved with a familiar, unblinking eye symbol. It appeared he was headed in the right direction.

Sure enough, the Slate read that Kakariko was merely around the next bend. Combating the fluttering anxiety in his stomach, Link pressed forward, ready to meet whatever came his way face-on.

Unfortunately, with his face, first impressions weren’t his strong suit. He was about to find that out the hard way.


	7. Sheikah Hospitality

Before he could bring himself to enter Kakariko proper, Link exchanged a long, tense glance with the final gatepost guarding the entrance of the village. His stomach squirmed as he fell under the inanimate scrutiny of a slew of Sheikah eye symbols, one carved into the wooden archway, the rest painted on canvas flags slapping in the wind. Their stares slowed his pace, wrenching his attention onto them for a moment or two without his control.

Almost as if wanting to expose him to the eyes, a gust of wind slipped its fingers beneath his hood, threatening to toss it off his head. Though no one was around to see, he quickly caught it before it did, jumping a little at the wind’s gusto, a shudder settling over him. Perhaps it was an omen to what was coming? Though his mind tried to tease the thought and send him spiraling into a panic, he forced himself not to dwell on his paranoia.

Ever since he first fell under its gaze, Link couldn’t quite fathom why the eye of the Sheikah instilled such a reaction in him — it seemed to hate him, critical of his every move. But he wouldn’t let something as simple as a symbol stop him from doing his duty to Hyrule. Shaking it off, he grit his jaw and secured his hood down, giving the eyes one final stare before proceeding under the archway.

If he was being honest with himself, Link wasn’t sure what awaited him in Kakariko. King Rhoam had been quite vague on that. Judging by the overgrown desolation of Hyrule he had seen, he expected to stumble into a community ravaged by the Great Calamity. But to his surprise, he found just the opposite.

Link came to a stop before a low fence at the crest of a winding, breezy hill. Far below him, he beheld a lush, thriving, close-knit village nestled in the heart of a valley. Nearly a dozen houses with domed rooftops speckled the tree-lined terraces, long lines of flags and clattering wooden wind chimes connecting them. He spotted a few squares of earth lined with crops here and there and a cucco coop, as well as a pair of waterfalls cascading behind the largest house at the rear of the village. The breeze curling off of the valley’s sheer walls carried with it the fresh, floral undertones of cherry blossoms and robust woodsmoke.

Eyes widening, Link lingered there for a while, drinking in Kakariko. It wasn’t anything like the crumbling ruins he had woken up to: peaceful, humble… alive. The village was certainly an inviting sight, but the longer he took it in, the more he began to worry if he was welcome there.

By that time, the sun had already set behind the horizon, the mountaintops casting thick shadows over the village below. As darkness began to gradually creep in, Link’s eyes flew to the figures appearing from out of their homes. One by one, he watched them walk along their porches and spark up blooms of warm, orange light to chase away the night — lanterns.

It appeared everyone was retiring for the evening. While that might have given him an advantage as far as avoiding encounters went, Link wasn’t sure where to even begin to find Impa, the elder. But with another quick run-over of the village, he figured the best place to begin his search would be the largest house near the waterfalls. The trail would take him right to it. Even if Impa wasn’t there — and he believed she might have been, what with her title — then the house’s occupant ought to know where to look… if he didn’t strike them speechless first.

Again, the thought of his face made him reconsider every option he had. Should he sneak through the village? Walk out in the open? Loudly proclaim that he was looking for Impa? He wasn’t sure which would help — or hurt — him the most. He gripped the fence in one hand, drumming his fingers against his bone mask with the other. Depending on how this went, he made a mental note to find a disguise of some sort to hide his wicked trio of eyes and glowing bones and horns. But for the moment, he had no choice but to wear his face for all to see.

Though the image of his face still concerned him, Link shook out the pessimism clouding his head. He had no idea how the Sheikah would react to him, but there was only one way to find out. He had to be prepared for anything — including a highly-unlikely warm welcome. Exhaling his resignations, he began to walk down the hill, his heartbeat following his brisk, anxious steps.

The trek down only filled him with nausea and dread, his eyes on constant alert, flickering between every moving object. From the leaves fluttering in the trees to the flags waving overhead, he met each with a clenching of his muscles and a stutter of his heart. Every false alarm only exhausted him, his nerves wearing thin. Whether he wanted to or not, he couldn’t have made it to the village’s heart fast enough; he picked up his pace in spite of his terror screaming at him not to.

Thankfully for his sanity, he managed to pass by the first houses on his way down without incident, though his ears pricked to hear the voices inside. Though they were muffled, he still heard the life within them: male and female, young and old, happy and tired, all welcoming in the coming night amongst friends and family. It was both fascinating and heartbreaking being an outsider listening in. Part of him craved human contact, but the other abhorred it; the resulting confusion only made his stomach twist.

Pressing on, Link left behind a pumpkin patch, the house with the coop — teeming with a crowd of clucking cuccos — and a clothing store with a _closed_ sign hanging from its door knob. All clear so far. As he descended deeper into Kakariko, the valley stretched towards the sky around him, as did the houses. Yet as big as the regular houses were, they were eclipsed by the largest house by the waterfalls, in both its size and its presence.

He was nearly there, but being the size that it was, he could easily admire it from that distance. The broad, two-story house was perched on an outcrop of land jutting from the small, shimmering lake beneath it. It stood out as the grandest of them all, with a swooping, pagoda-like roof. A wooden staircase lead up to the wraparound porch, with a wrought-iron sculpture of the Sheikah eye hanging above its front facade. Several stout, stone figures huddled in a row beside the staircases’ gateway, the nearby torches scattering their small shadows across the grass. Link watched lanterns glow to life in the windows, lit by a figure he couldn’t make out.

His eyes were still trained on the ornate house when he finally arrived at the heart of Kakariko. It was only when he registered the voices sounding from nearby did he realize there were actually people around. Link choked on his shaky breath, his eyes immediately flying to them, the sight of them sending a jolt through him.

Quickly, Link dove behind an old tree stump, tall and wide enough to hide him. Peering around its mossy bark, he studied the scene before him, piecing together a good means of approach.

There were three men standing in the large courtyard before the house. One of them, the closest to Link, was busying himself with folding up an easel, a paintbrush behind his ear, with a square canvas propped up on his leg. He had his back to Link, muttering something about finding a good place for his painting to dry. He appeared to be an older gentleman, judging by his silvery hair and the faded, leathery tattoo on his shoulder.

The other two men seemed to be close to the painter’s age, as well. They had their white hair pulled into buns atop their heads, and they sported fair, aged skin and facial hair. Both were dressed in loose, cream-colored coats laced with crimson stripes, form-fitting pants and sandals, and curved woven-fiber hats. As Link admired their curious attire, his eyes immediately found the swords sheathed at their hips, his lips pursing.

Based upon their position in front of the large house, as well as their weapons, Link could only assume they were guards. And where there were guards, there were people of importance to protect. Impa must have been inside. Now, it was only a matter of getting to her… through them. Link prayed he wouldn’t have to resort to drawing his weapons to do so. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble. It seemed his safest option was to approach them slowly and unarmed.

 _Here goes nothing,_ he thought.

In only a few heartbeats, Link’s veins ran alight with adrenaline, anticipating his next move; he remained planted in his place for a moment, waiting. As the painter gathered his canvas and hoisted his easel onto his shoulder, he bade the two guards goodnight, heading off towards what looked like an inn. Whether Link liked it or not, that was his cue. Wiping off the sweat slicking his palms, he emerged from his cover, willing his leaden legs to bring him to the pair of guards; a more than difficult task, considering how his body trembled against his will.

The taller man with the pointed beard noticed Link first. The man cut off mid-sentence in his conversation with the shorter guard with the pronounced sideburns, doing a double-take. On reflex, Link tilted his face downward, concealing his bone mask with his hood. Though he couldn’t see them react to him, he nevertheless heard them, and it brought back memories he would have rather forgotten.

The unmistakable metallic hiss of two brandished swords rang through the night air, stopping Link completely. He didn’t need to see the blades to know that they were out and at the ready. His shoulders tensing, he showed his hands in hopes of peace, remaining silent.

He struggled to maintain even breathing when one of them barked, “You there! Outsider! How dare you trespass near Lady Impa’s home?!”

Unsure of how to explain himself, Link held his tongue.

There was a short pause before the other guard murmured, “Cado, look… His-his arms…”

Link winced. Somehow he knew that was coming. His fingers rolled into fists involuntarily, glowing bones folding over themselves in a mess of marrow.

Cado, the tall man, replied with a weak, “What in the name of Hylia…?” He then sputtered, “Wait — is… is that the _Sheikah Slate?”_

Link’s eyes widened at their words, his gaze flying to the Slate on his hip. Could it be that they were expecting him?

The second guard, completely taken back, stammered, “But that would mean he is… No, it’s not possible, but… can it be?” Slowly, he continued, “Show us your face… stranger.”

Link had a sinking feeling, but he complied nonetheless. With a sigh, he raised his head, meeting the guard’s gazes with all three of his wicked, glowing amber eyes.

Though he didn’t blame them, their reactions still pierced Link to his core; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to this treatment. Like King Rhoam before them, the two guards both pitched back in horror at the sight of Link’s face, jaws dropping, their eyes as wide as full moons. Without allowing him a word, they both pointed their swords toward his chest – the shorter guard’s sword rattling in his shaky hands.

“W-whatever you are, dark creature, why have you come to our village?!” Cado stammered. “Answer me, or I will spill your blood!”

Though barely able to even out the vibrato in his voice, Link stated, slowly, “Please, I’m not here to hurt anyone. My name is Link — I came from the Shrine of Resurrection. I am a former champion of Hyrule and Princess Zelda’s appointed knight.”

The two guards watched him speak, paralyzed, as though he were dripping with the blood of their families. Even so, Link continued, “I was sent by the spirit of King Rhoam to speak to Impa. He said she would guide me. If you would just step aside and allow me to see her — ”

But the shorter guard had heard enough. He spat, cutting Link off, “Over my dead body, we will! Do you honestly expect us to believe that? That’s a filthy Yiga lie if I ever heard one.”

Link blinked under the accusation, only he had no idea what he was talking about. Yiga? Was that some kind of name? All he could do was watch, braced for the worst, as the two men proceeded to argue, his mind racing with questions.

“Dorian,” Cado said. “You can’t possibly think he’s a Yiga member — not with that face! I’ve never seen a Yiga look like that – like a monster in human form! An agent of Ganon, perhaps?”

The shorter guard, who Link now knew as Dorian, responded, “Ganon or not, you know the Yiga’s craft and deceit. Now that they’re running out of ways to fool us, it wouldn’t surprise me if they sent this miserable freak to throw us off our guard.”

 _Freak._ Link hadn’t heard that one yet. He recoiled, grinding his jaw and swallowing a lump in his throat. Whether or not they noticed him visibly falter at the name, it didn’t matter. That was all the explanation Cado needed. His eyes hardening, he refocused his attention on Link, tightening his grip on his sword.

Before Link could continue to make his case, Dorian bore his teeth with a glare, growling, “You’re coming with us, _hero._ We’ll be having that Slate back.”

“Wait, what?!” Link gasped.

Without provocation, Cado and Dorian pounced on Link, seizing him by the shoulders and pushing the flat of their blades against his throat. He immediately froze, unable to escape as they held him fast and began to drag him towards the stairs.

“Please — no, no, no, please! I’m not here to hurt Impa! I just want to speak with her!” Link cried, digging his heels into the grass. Despite his efforts, they wrenched him along with impressive strength, forcing him to follow their steps as they climbed the staircase.

“You can take my weapons if you want to, I just want to talk!” Link offered, to no avail.

“Save your breath, beast,” Dorian snarled in his ear. “You don’t have many left.”

This wasn’t how Link wanted to meet with Impa at all — again demonized for his appearance, dragged in like an animal awaiting slaughter. Panic exploded inside him with each step he took, his mind jumping ahead to every worst possible scenario he could imagine. He prayed Impa might recognize him and spare him a terrible fate, but he wasn’t counting on it. Not with the way he looked. Depending on how this meeting played out, he feared he might have to fight his way out of Kakariko if he wanted to leave with his life.

The three of them struggled up the staircase and finally arrived at the porch. Cado and Dorian, holding Link steady, both reared a leg back and bashed the double doors in with their feet, demolishing the peaceful atmosphere of Impa’s house with an almighty crash.

The doors swung open to reveal a spacious room bathed in warm candle- and lantern-light, shadows playing off of the flags, talismans, and Sheikah eye symbols crowning the rafters. Several rows of cushions lined the floor, facing a central altar at the back of the room, where two women lingered. They jerked their heads over towards the doorway, the younger of the two giving a squeak at the trio’s bombastic entrance.

“Lady Impa!” Dorian shouted as they dragged Link inside.

Pushing their way further in, they reached the center of the room, where Dorian proceeded to shove his knee into Link’s back, forcing him to kneel on the rug. Link did so with a grunt, his arms throbbing from the vise-grip cutting off his circulation. Cado ensured Link kept kept his head down and his eyes on the floor, the blade of his sword scratching against Link’s Adam’s apple.

“We bring an intruder!” Dorian announced.

“Oh? An intruder, you say?” a frail, female voice wondered. Link’s ears perked at it — aged as it was, it was gentle and sweet, a drastic change from the harsh tones of the guards. It felt familiar to him, somehow.

“Yes, Lady Impa,” Cado added. “He attempted to bypass us to speak with you. Claims himself to be the one we’ve been waiting for.”

After a pause, Impa mused, “Link, hm? I see… Well, how am I to know if this intruder _is_ in fact Link, if I cannot see his face? Please, remove his hood so I may see him.”

No one, not even Link, moved for several solid moments of silence. Link held his breath, readying himself for the impending shock. He hoped his appearance wouldn’t kill the poor woman. He tried to wriggle free of Cado and Dorian’s hands, but they fastened their hold on him.

“Why do you hesitate?” Impa prodded. “Remove his hood, please. I would like to see his face.”

Dorian and Cado exchanged a rigid glance. “If you insist,” Dorian murmured.

Link felt Dorian’s fingers burrow into his hair through his hood. Without preparing Impa and the young woman beforehand, Dorian tore the hood off of Link’s head, exposing him, horns, eyes, and all.

Though they had already seen him, Dorian and Cado nevertheless stiffened. Meanwhile, Impa and the young woman both gasped audibly, cowering. The girl, stood beside Impa, had been holding a ceramic tea set placed on a tray. Upon seeing Link, her face went ashen and she dropped everything in her hands, the cups and teapot shattering and splashing tea across the floorboards. The sound only raked across everyone’s suddenly-ragged nerves, agitating the very air.

Now that they were face-to-face, Link was able to get a good look at the two women. The girl’s posture made her seem like a wounded animal — shivering, she held her arms close to her torso and covered her face with her hands, peeking between her fingers at him. Though she was young, perhaps near his age, she, too, had silky, pale white hair, half-draped down the back of her ivory coat, as well as perched atop her head in a bun secured with chopsticks. She wore similar clothes to Dorian and Cado, but Link found with awe that she had the scarlet Sheikah eye painted on her forehead. She had a kind, innocent face and cool brown eyes — it was a shame Link’s face brought her such mortal terror.

The woman seated next to her was, undoubtedly, Impa. As Link looked upon her, he thought back on what King Rhoam had told him: that she was his trusted advisor. If that was true, then Impa had to have been well over one hundred years old, a fact that boggled Link’s mind. Her age manifested itself in her tiny frame and in the tapestry of wrinkles and liver spots scattered across her skin. She had her snowy hair pulled back into a low bun above her coat, and she knelt on a collection of plush cushions on the altar, her hands tangled in her lap as she took in Link’s face. Just as the young woman, Impa also bore a deep purple Sheikah eye on her forehead. Her dark, weary eyes searched him ceaselessly from beneath an overlarge conical hat with cast iron Sheikah eyes dripping from its brim.

For several moments, Impa stared mutely at Link. He began to sweat under her ancient gaze, praying for her to recognize him in spite of his appearance. As much as he strained to recall memories of her, he came up short. All he could manage to do was offer her a crooked, feeble smile.

Cado broke the silence first, his voice dripping with bafflement. “Lady Impa… don’t tell us you recognize this creature — it’s _inhuman._ This couldn’t possibly be the hero you told us about!” He tilted his head, squinting at her, stunned at her reaction to him.

Link’s rising hopes were dashed in an instant as Impa tiredly replied, “No… No, I don’t recognize him. He is not the Link I knew one hundred years ago.”

“I knew it!” Dorian said, looking down his nose at Link as he knelt limply on the floor, crushed. “I knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be — he’s no doubt a Yiga assassin, Lady Impa! Sent to slit our throats as we lie in bed!” Dorian then drew his sword up to Link’s chin, growling, “Let me take his head off, right here and now… and end his cursed existence.”

A bead of sweat crawled down Link’s neck as the tip of Dorian’s sword tempted his skin. While Link tensed into stone at that, the girl gave a wheezy gasp and slapped her hands over her eyes.

She shrilly begged, “ _Hahh, p-please don’t!”_

“Not here, Dorian,” Impa said before Dorian could act, her voice gaining a stern edge.

“You’re right,” Dorian grunted reluctantly. Another ray of hope shone on Link, however briefly, before Dorian added, “I’ll take him to the cliffs, do it there. Leave his body for the wolves…”

“You won’t be doing that, either,” Impa said before Link could panic again. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

Dorian was floored, his nostrils flaring in defiance. “B-but he’s a Yiga assassin!! He must be killed before he can kill _us!”_ Again, he pressed his sword closer to Link, the freezing blade prickling his skin. “It’s the only way we can exterminate these traitors! One by one.”

Throughout Dorian’s rather violent ordeal, Impa remained collected, her little hands clasped, talking him down like a parent would a rowdy child. “Yes, but if he were an assassin, do you think he would have casually strolled into your laps like he did?”

Both Dorian and Cado took pause, their brows furrowing. Dorian frowned into the rug, the gears in his mind grinding. “Erm… no, I suppose not…” he mumbled.

Impa’s eyes shone with a centuries-worth of knowledge and experience. She said lowly, “Quite so. Dorian, you know better than anyone how the Yiga operate — the only trace they leave of their presence is spilled blood and ghastly silence.”

Darkness consumed Dorian’s eyes at that, and his shoulders slumped. His grip on Link’s arm constricted until Link’s veins began to go numb. The old man pursed his lips and fell quiet, staring into the rug. Link briefly wondered what Impa had meant by that.

Impa continued after a moment, returning her gaze to Link, “No, he is not of the Yiga, but he is, however, of interest to us.” She then gestured to the burning red eye of the Sheikah Slate on his hip. “Tell me, where did you come upon that device?”

Link never got the chance to reply, for Cado did so for him. He snarked, “Most likely stolen from the real Link, I presume.”

Before Impa had the opportunity to ask for the Sheikah Slate, Cado stooped and snatched it from Link’s belt, releasing his hold on him and leaving him under the watch of Dorian. As Cado walked away with the Slate, something primal abruptly reared itself inside Link, sending him into a desperation for it. He couldn’t explain what seized him so suddenly; almost instantaneously, his emotions boiled to a fever pitch inside him, the eye on the Slate blazing with a familiar magenta light that seemed to call to him.

 _Take it back,_ it commanded.

“Wait — I need that!” Link wheezed, reaching for it, only to be held back by Dorian. The old man strained to hold Link down by himself as Link got to his feet, fighting against his grip to get the Slate. “That was Zelda’s — she trusted me with it!” Link insisted. “Please, give it back!”

Pausing, Cado snarled at Link. “This artifact belongs to the Sheikah — not to you,” he scorned, tucking it close to his chest. The Slate only called to Link louder the further it drifted from him, bursting with more and more light. Oblivious, Cado turned and resumed walking toward Impa, ready to give it to her.

“No, you don’t understand!” Link cried. An intense wave of cold rage mutated Link’s panic into anger, then, his heart rampaging in his chest. Why weren’t they heeding him?

Struggling against Dorian, Link’s jaw ground. “Let me go, Dorian!” he growled, his voice adopting something that wasn’t him.

But the old man didn’t listen. He had since dropped his sword and was hopelessly restraining Link with both hands, going red in the face against the young man’s unprecedented strength. As Link powered against him, everyone in the room — except for Link himself — began to gape at his bones through his transparent skin. An intense magenta light coursed through them, growing brighter by the second, bolstering his power.

As Cado held the Slate before Impa — who had turned her gaze on them — Link grabbed hold of Dorian’s forearm, his teeth bared. His touch sent a shiver across the Sheikah’s spine.

“I said — LET. ME. _GO!”_ Link roared, shoving Dorian away from him as though he were nothing but a breeze.

Following a nauseating, ear-splitting _crack,_ Dorian rocketed across the room into the wall, bashing his head against it with a mighty boom. Vases and talismans rained upon him. When he crumbled to the floor, he curled into a ball, a hoarse howl ripping out of him as he brought his hand to his right forearm, clutching it.

Time seemed to hold its breath for everyone in the room as they all turned their heads towards Dorian. Before Link had the chance to take back the Slate, something inside him suddenly retreated deeper into him, leaving him lightheaded as he set his eyes on the man he had sent flying with barely any effort. As Dorian wailed, his face twisted, Link came to the horrific realization that he didn’t know his own strength.

What had he done?

Link gasped and stumbled back from the sight of Dorian, shaking from head to foot, beginning to hyperventilate. “I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean to do that…” he breathed, his jaw hanging open. He brought his eyes into his bony hands, watching the brilliant magenta light fade from this bones, reverting back to normal.

With that single shove, Link had snapped Dorian’s forearm completely in half. It flopped uselessly in his lap, his skin already swelling and bruising beneath his sleeve.

Hoping to somehow help, Link took several shaky steps towards Dorian, arms outreached. “Dorian, I-I’m so sorry, I — ” he began, only to get cut off as Dorian opened his eyes to find his inadvertent attacker standing over him.

“DON’T TOUCH ME, YOU MONSTER!” he screamed, spitting at Link. He scooted away as much as he could, keeping his fiery gaze trained on him. “ _Don’t you dare come any closer!”_

Heart shattering in his chest, Link stepped back, his blood running cold. He thought he might dart out the front door to escape the gruesome scene, but soon found himself with the tip of a sword pressed into his back. Knowing he wouldn’t leave without the Sheikah Slate, he froze in his spot, bringing his hands up in surrender.

Cado, positioned behind him, endeavored to control the violent shudder that had overcome him, straining to keep his sword straight. “What do you suggest we do with him, Lady Impa?” he wondered reverently, worried the creature before him would whirl around and attack.

A quiet voice trickled through the thick, heavy atmosphere, barely registering to Link’s ears as he gaped at what he had done.

“Take him upstairs, Cado, to the attic,” Impa began. She inspected Link from the tips of his horns to his ragged shoes, her eyes wide, her mind swarming with questions and horror. “Chain him up with the old shackles, keep him there until dawn. We’ll speak again then.”

“Yes, my lady,” Cado said, gingerly reaching out and taking Link by the shoulder, pressing his sword into his back.

Link didn’t fight it that time. He didn’t have the strength for it. He turned his body toward the staircase situated behind Impa, but his eyes remained on Dorian, even as they walked to the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he continued to mutter, only he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing to Dorian… or to himself. “ _I’m so, so sorry.”_

As Link climbed the stairs with Cado shadowing him, he caught one last glance of Dorian’s face, glistening with sweat. The mask of hatred he wore shook Link to his core. If Dorian had wanted to kill him before, then he certainly was hellbent on doing so, then.


	8. Beasts of Burden

The trek up the stairs to Impa’s attic resembled a death march to Link, the creaking of each step reminding him of the sickening _crack_ of Dorian’s arm. It replayed in his mind in a maddening, monotonous beat, splicing between his ears and making his stomach seethe. Had Cado not been pressuring him forward, Link definitely would have leaned over and thrown up. As they climbed, it took every ounce of his willpower to hold himself together, sweat crawling down his temples and his mouth sour with bile.

In the aftermath of his encounter with Dorian, Link’s mind and his stomach roiled in a humid maelstrom of horror — horror at both himself, and at the murderous look etched on Dorian’s face. The same few words hissed inside his mind, searing into his very brain, and they seemed to be coming from Dorian himself: _What have you done, Link?! What have you done?!_ Link fought against the lingering memories of his actions, but he couldn’t shake them; they bled into his thoughts, staining them, reminding him incessantly of his monstrous behavior.

It had all happened in such a blur that Link could barely even process what lead up to it — Cado taking the Slate, Link struggling against Dorian, something stirring inside him, and then… Dorian was on the other side of the room, wailing in pain, his arm drooping worthlessly into his lap. The thought of it made Link heave, his stomach burning. He honestly didn’t remember grabbing Dorian and shoving him aside. It was almost as if someone had hijacked his movements.

He had a horrible feeling he knew who had done it. The realization slithered into his veins like a vile disease, sending a quake down his spine and stuttering his heartbeat. As they climbed past the second floor, the surrounding darkness seemed to grin with phantoms of Calamity Ganon, surrounding Link on all sides and eying him hungrily. He shrunk in on himself in efforts to avoid his hallucinations, his skin itching in the darkness.

Link was so consumed by his position that he didn’t notice the approaching ceiling until he had bumped his horns against it. Pausing, he came out of himself and looked over his shoulder to Cado with a frown, unsure of where to go.

Cado, upon noticing Link’s eyes on him, stopped several steps below him. He stiffened, muttering, “Open the hatch. The attic is through there.”

Though lacking a light to guide him, Link obeyed. He felt around the wood grain above his head, his fingers finding a metal ring. Taking it, he gave it a push, a small door swinging with a squeak over his head, revealing a cavernous, pitch-black square beyond. A breath of cold, stuffy air poured onto him, running over his bone mask and sifting through his hair, sending goosebumps across his skin.

He attempted to squint through the thick darkness, but he was unable to make out what lay in the attic. As anxious as he was, Link couldn’t help but see more faces coalescing in the shadows: wicked, gleeful faces with horns and fangs, bidding him enter. With those images in his head, he froze, his mind running rampant with visions of what could have lurked beyond.

He was quickly reminded, while staring into the darkness, that he would be spending the night up there. The reminder only served to pump his blood with more paranoia.

Link jumped a little when Cado said, “Well? What are you waiting for? Get up there!” He jabbed the tip of his sword into Link’s thigh, spurring him, in spite of his dread, into the shadows.

Willing his heavy feet to move, Link climbed the last few steps and emerged into the attic, his body immediately locking up where he stood. Though the room was blanketed in an empty void, he found with a start that he could faintly make out the objects nearby, though their figures didn’t comfort him.

No, it was the abrupt discovery that his bones and eyes became brilliantly luminous in the dark that made him squirm. Without him even wanting them to, his bones autonomously gave off a grisly magenta light, beaming through his skin and highlighting the surrounding objects for him to see.

Eyes adjusting to his own light, Link took a look around. Clustered in piles throughout the attic were dust-coated collections of old furniture — chests, tables, cabinets, chairs, and vases, all piled with extra cushions, folded clothes, blankets, lanterns, and conical hats.

As Link ran his glowing eyes over his accommodations, he could only pray that he would catch at least some shred of sleep, though he heavily doubted it. Not with the hysterical fantasies polluting his mind. He wasn’t looking forward to spending his first night out of his centuries-long slumber chained up in the dark and forgotten.

Before he could drive himself mad thinking about the night ahead of him, Cado joined him in the attic. He was about to strike a match when he caught sight of the corrupted light emanating from Link, his jaw dropping into his chest. Link, overcome with a wave of shame, turned away his gaze at Cado’s gaping, his shoulders slumping. An audible shudder rattled the Sheikah’s breath at the unnatural light, but he quickly shook off his awe and returned to his task, dipping his sword into Link’s back again.

“Now then, er... this way,” he mumbled, pushing Link across the creaking floorboards to a corner laden with various odds and ends. Stew pots, frying pans, plates and bowls, mops, buckets. Nothing of use to Link. Or comfortable. It appeared this was to be his bed for the night.

“Sit,” Cado ordered, forcing his voice out.

Complying, Link seated himself. His eyes down, he turned his palm over and under, studying his smoldering knuckles. He didn’t want to watch Cado’s ogling at his oddities, as it only made him all the more uncomfortable in his own skin. But it was all Cado could look at, try as he might to turn away. Link’s strange body filled him with a sense of disturbed amazement.

While keeping a wary eye on Link, Cado searched for the shackles Impa had mentioned, but he came up short in the low light. In the meantime, he shocked Link when he proposed, “R-remove all of your belongings. Every pack, every shield, every weapon. Now.”

Link’s head shot up. Cado couldn’t have been serious. His brows crinkling, Link replied quietly, “But… I need this stuff… Please, let me keep _something.”_

“I said _now!”_ Cado barked, thrusting his shaking sword mere inches from Link’s third eye. “Don’t make me...” He paused, swallowing hard. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

The light from Link’s bones filled Cado’s eyes and cast harsh shadows on his skin, making him appear ghastly. The sight wrung Link’s stomach and brought a reluctant sigh out of him. He needed his things, but he didn’t want to accidentally harm Cado, too, should he protest. No, he wouldn’t dare. Without a word, he began to shirk his supplies, laying them at Cado’s feet.

Cado didn’t hesitate to push them out of his reach. Defeated, Link sat in his place as Cado finally found the shackles and brought them over. Their heavy stone chains thunked together in the darkness, but Link was so numb he barely even looked at them. Cado looped the chain around the leg of a heavy tea table nearby, kneeling before Link to lock his wrists into their clasps.

Link raised his hands for Cado, making things easier for him. As he shackled him, the old man avidly avoided their skin making contact, for fear he was somehow infectious; he grabbed Link by the forearm, covered by his shirt, and carefully locked both of his wrists inside the shackles with weighty _clicks,_ taking the key and slipping it into his pocket.

The shackles seemed solid; Link doubted that, even _with_ his added strength, he could have broken free from them. Not that he would try, anyway. He was still feeling rather sick, and he didn’t want to cause any more trouble than he already had. He had done enough damage for one day.

Battling his nausea, Link’s hands fell into his lap with a chinkling of the chains. As a wave of frigid air washed over him, Link watched Cado sheath his sword and confiscate his packs and weapons. With everything safely in his arms, Cado didn’t waste any time in making his swift retreat, dashing across the floor towards the pale light from downstairs shining through the hatch.

Part of Link burst into a panic at the thought of being left alone in the dark. After all, he had assumed Cado would guard him. Before he left, Link called out to him, his voice strained.

“...Cado?!”

The old man reacted to Link saying his name as though he had been electrocuted. Gasping, he ground to a halt in his tracks and jolted back, his eyes bugging out of his head and his hair standing on end. A few paces from the exit, he crouched in dreaded anticipation, listening for Link’s reply.

Link hesitated, his breath scant. He wanted to both beg Cado to stay, as well as apologize for everything, but he knew he wouldn’t listen to either.

In the end, all Link could manage was a frail, “Please, tell Dorian how sorry I am.”

A short, yet heavy pause followed. Without acknowledging Link’s request, Cado darted down the stairs and laid the hatch shut with a deep, resounding thud, drowning Link in blackness.

Link’s breath immediately rushed out of his lungs as the inky abyss gathered eagerly towards him, suffocating him and crushing him absolutely. It seemed to dissolve into his skin and creep into his veins, chilling his blood. Wide-eyed and hollow, he folded his legs against his chest and hugged himself, pinching his eyes shut against the dark and resting his forehead on his knees with a shaky exhale.

He sat there for quite some time, barely thinking, scarcely breathing. Yet his heart rampaged in his empty chest, beating against his ribcage. He might as well have been gutted by the Sheikah; his mind lay in shambles from his paranoia, guilt, and anxieties, his body aching, his soul shattered. He barely had the strength to even think.

Sitting there, trembling and curled up in the dark, Link was a far cry from the hero King Rhoam and Zelda believed he was.

Oh, Rhoam, Zelda… Link honestly couldn’t believe all that he had been through that day. It felt like an entire lifetime since Zelda’s voice had reached out to him and woken him up in the Shrine of Resurrection. It was difficult for him to comprehend that he had met the last king of Hyrule that day, destroyed a Guardian, and traveled off of the Great Plateau on a paraglider — he’d even beheld an ancient dragon. But of everything he had done, he couldn’t believe he had ended up in Kakariko after all of it, vilified and imprisoned like the beast consuming Hyrule Castle.

Him. Link. Like Calamity Ganon. The words together were hideous. But after what he had done to Dorian… Link felt he deserved it. His beastly act filled him with horror at himself. He grit his teeth and tightened his fists, perishing the thought.

He hadn’t meant to do it — but that didn’t excuse it. Nothing ever would. He’d have to live with the memory of Dorian’s filthy glare for the rest of his life.

_What kind of hero would do such a thing?_ he thought to himself.

Something inside him knew the answer, but he endeavored to push it out of his mind. And yet it lingered, taunting him, just as it did in the belfry. After witnessing the creature he had transformed into, and facing that awful reflection in the crumbling church — after beholding the Malice coursing through him and cowering from the mortal terror in the eyes of the Sheikah… Link slowly realized that he was no hero. No, he was only denying what he was, inside and out: a monster.

A monster that had terrorized people with his face _alone._ A monster that had shattered an innocent man’s arm. Even _Calamity Ganon’s_ _monster._ Link’s blood boiled with dread and hatred at both himself and the beast for the disturbing reality that had been thrust upon him.

His breath began to draw in and out of his paralyzed lungs in gasps as the thought settled over him like a storm. How could he possibly save anyone, let alone a princess, even a kingdom, if trouble followed him wherever he went like his own shadow? Though, he supposed, with a face like his, it was only inevitable.

All the same, he couldn’t help but curse his own face. Brows knitting together, he reached up and ingrained his fingertips into the bone mask, grinding his teeth and straining to find a way to pry it off of him. He knew it was a pointless venture, but he tried it anyway, prodding and pulling till his fingers were sore. It was just no use.

Reopening his eyes, Link eventually gave up and cast his face towards the roof, resting his head against the wall and slumping back. He didn’t want to believe it, but all of the evidence was there before him, glaring at him through his skin. He was a monster. He was _Ganon’s_ monster. There was no denying it.

He almost started to accept his fate, but a tiny pinprick of light in the back of his mind pierced his crippling doubt, making him reconsider.

Amidst the chaos of his mind, King Rhoam’s face materialized out of nowhere, dispelling the boiling mire that was his thoughts. After their encounter with the Guardian, Rhoam had believed Link was a hero — he had hand-picked him to protect the life of his own daughter after witnessing his valor and skill. He had given Link the start he needed to rescue the kingdom from a certain demise, and left him with his blessing. Surely, his word counted for _something._ He was King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule, after all.

And Zelda… She had placed perfect, radiant faith in him when no one else had. Her sincerity and warmth had soothed him in the worst of times, and inspirited him with courage. It was her light and belief that brought him out of the darkness, carried him off of his paralysis in the belfry, and motivated him to jump from the plateau. And it was the thought of her sacrifice that drove Link to keep his promise to her father, no matter what it took.

It was her. It had always been her. Zelda. _She_ was the reason he was a hero.

The thought was pleasant, but Link’s monstrous reality still lurked in his head. Maybe, Link thought, if he could just hear her voice, then he’d find some semblance of peace after his encounter with Dorian that still gnawed at him. Hylia only knew he needed it then. Huddling closer in on himself, he took a deep breath, hoping — no, pining — for her to reply.

“Zelda… please tell me…” he plead, his voice raw. “Tell me I’m not like him… that I’m not a monster. Even if I am… what am I supposed to do? How can I stop it?”

He waited with baited breath for an answer. And yet, in spite of his cry, nothing came. He waited a bit longer still, but ultimately, his pleas hung in the stale air, looming above his head. Her silence destroyed a small part of him, his mind reeling with doubt and fear intensified by the darkness swallowing him.

But just when he felt he had fallen beyond the reach of her light, he received his answer.

It might not have been her voice, but he knew it was her, regardless. While leaning against the cold wooden wall, he was overcome with the miraculous sensation of someone wrapping their arms around him from behind. He seemed to feel the gentle pressure of her squeezing his chest, purifying the dark doubts consuming him.

Blissful warmth, as familiar as a new dawn, thawed his icy fears and trickled through his skin and spine, warming him to his core. For several moments, she held him silently, almost as if to reassure him that she was still there, and that she had heard him. Her silence was breathtaking.

His silent princess… Though she toiled against Calamity Ganon’s thrashing, she still had enough strength left in her to comfort him in his hour of need, even through the distance between them. It left him speechless. Her unflinching resolve was nothing short of astounding to him.

New light illuminated the darkness in Link’s mind. If, against all odds, she could continue fighting, then somehow, Link knew he could, too. Though the thought of facing Ganon nevertheless frightened him, he couldn’t bear the thought of giving up, and leaving her to stand against him alone. She had already endured enough. Now, it was his turn. He had to be strong. For her.

He certainly had his own battles to fight, just as she did, but he made a promise then and there that he wouldn’t allow Ganon’s menace, as crippling as it was, keep him from his duty to Hyrule. From his duty to her. Monster or not, she hadn’t given up on him, yet — he couldn’t give up on himself, either. There was simply too much at stake for that.

Link had to do whatever it took to destroy Ganon. And if that entailed defying what he had been forced to become, he would do so wholeheartedly.

Link smiled, his taut muscles relaxing while his throat tightened. “Thank you,” he whispered aloud, tangling his hand in his shirt. “Thank you…”

Still encircled in her sweet embrace, Link’s body eased away its tensions. In that moment, the darkness surrounding him shed its intimidating presence, instead becoming a quiet shroud of rest for him. Though the sun had only been down for a few hours by then, Link felt more than ready for bed, his body and mind weary, yet his soul enriched. He’d have to improvise his bed, yes, but he was plenty exhausted enough to find anything suitable.

Since he couldn’t reach the cushions a ways off, he ended up removing his hood and wrapping it around a skillet, using it as a makeshift pillow. Thankfully for him, the length of the shackles’ chain gave him just enough leeway to reach a blanket so he wouldn’t freeze in his thin clothes in the night. After shaking out the dust from it, he settled down under the blanket with the hood-wrapped pan cradling his head. His “bed” was humble by all accounts, but it served him well enough that night. He was grateful he at least had a roof over his head.

With Zelda’s silent reassurance pacifying his worries, his mind began to wind down, and his body slowly grew numb. His eyes heavy, he murmured reverently, “Goodnight. Stay strong.”

Across the land, within the depths of Hyrule Castle, the princess wished him a good night, as well. As he drifted off to sleep, a tearful smile found her lips, and she retracted her presence from him. She settled in for another long night of her own, keeping the beast contained while her dear knight slept. She knew he deserved it more than anyone. Even herself.

“Rest well, Link…” she prayed to her hallowed walls. “Your trials are only just beginning...”

* * *

The night was rough for both of them. Just as she had done for one hundred years, Zelda kept the beast under her close watch, but for some unexplained reason, its activity levels surged that night. The sudden spike in energy startled her, making her curious, if not a bit frightened, of its cause. It writhed restlessly throughout the night, as if it were anxious for something, its groans rattling along the corrupted halls of the castle, filling her mind, as well as another’s.

Link didn’t fare much better. In spite of Zelda’s presence at the beginning of the night, he tossed and turned amidst foggy, nonsensical dreams that snared his subconscious with voracious delight. Visions of raging, crimson fire and shadowy figures with spider-like legs darted in and out of his hazy, sleeping mind, strewn amidst panicked voices and murmurs. Even in his own dreams he couldn’t process what was happening.

It was only when the shadows amalgamated into a hulking silhouette with piercing yellow eyes and tusks did he recognize what was plaguing his dream. Panicking in the face of the beast, Link flinched away, bracing to run, only for his body to follow suit. He jerked abruptly awake with a gasp, chest heaving beneath the weight of the dream.

For a brief moment, residual panic from the dream flickered through his lungs as he tried to get his bearings with heightened breath. His surroundings were pitch-black, a fact that alarmed him, but he quickly remembered that he was still in Impa’s attic. And, he realized further, still shackled. He did find, interestingly enough, that his bones had ceased shining, leaving him in total darkness. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, what with the total lack of outside light.

Though he certainly felt rested, he soon became acutely aware of a less-than-refreshing development: his stomach snarling inside him. Link hadn’t eaten anything since the afternoon before, his ravenous hunger nearly dissolving a hole in his abdomen. And with the shackles binding him, he was in no condition to stand and search for some food, even if there were any around.

He clutched his stomach, fidgeting at its uncomfortable emptiness. If only Cado hadn’t taken his things. Link would’ve done anything to bite into a crisp apple, or to dig into a smoked fish — he’d even settle for crunching on acorns. Anything to calm his twisting, angry stomach.

To his fortune, he didn’t have to wait long to find relief. As he sat for another moment or two — his mind preoccupied with what would be in store for him that day — he failed to notice the footsteps sounding from downstairs until the hatch to the attic squeaked open, deluging the room in light. Jumping, he blinked against the new light, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes.

Link’s heart fluttered a bit as he beheld the person approaching him. It was Cado, looking a bit worse for wear. He had removed his coat and hat, his pale hair a bit disheveled; funnily enough, Link spotted a few feathers poking out of his bun. The lantern he held in his fist cast his face with stark shadows, emphasizing the bags under his eyes. It appeared he hadn’t slept well, judging by his rigid expression and glazed-over squint.

Cado came to a stop before Link, looking over his makeshift bed. His eyes tightened.

Before he could say anything, Link greeted him. “Good morning, Cado,” he sheepishly said, getting to his feet.

Cado didn’t dignify him with a pleasant reply. Frowning, his brows crinkled and he pursed his lips, grunting, “I have been sent to fetch you by Lady Impa. She wishes to have a word with you.”

Without further ado, Cado removed the key to Link’s shackles from his pocket and set him free, but not without taking him firmly by the shoulder and escorting him out of the attic.

Link, though nervous to speak with Impa after what happened, was nonetheless grateful to be leaving the attic. It almost felt like escaping a tomb, and he welcomed the dazzling morning light on his skin with a swell of delight in his chest. His faint smile transformed several times as they descended the flights of stairs down to the main floor, ranging from thrilled to anxious. He had no idea what plans Impa had for him.

But per his revelation from the night before, he vowed he would face whatever Impa had in store for him with courage. Come what may, he was ready.

At length, Link and Cado descended their last steps and emerged into the main room of the house. They were greeted with a similar scene from the night before, with the double doors and various windows ajar letting in a sweet morning breeze.

Impa had moved from her spot on the altar, seated on a cushion before a low table set with three plates, pairs of chopsticks, spoons, and teacups. A thin ribbon of steam curled out of the spout of a teapot placed in the center of the table, the earthy smell of its contents mingling with the floral undertones of cherry blossoms filling the room. It appeared Impa was the only one around — neither Dorian nor the young Sheikah girl were present.

Impa turned her head to greet them as they stepped further inside. To Link’s astonishment, she offered him a friendly, aged smile. She gestured to the table, calling him over.

“Please, have a seat with me,” she said kindly.

As Cado hung back, Link stepped gingerly forward, seating himself across from the tiny old woman. He folded his hands in his lap, his back stiff. Even when graced with her friendly expression — a novel sight for him — he still ground his jaw shut, his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe she was seated that close to him so comfortably.

“I hope you slept well, er…” she began, trailing off. She tilted her head, her brows furrowing. “Oh, do forgive me. My memory isn’t what it used to be. Tell me, what was your name, again?”

Link wet his dry throat, replying, “Link, Lady Impa.”

“My, aren’t you polite, Link,” she chuckled. Pausing, her eyes clouded over. “Link… That name… It certainly is unique. I seem to recall knowing a young man named Link, but that was quite a long time ago, you see.”

Studying his face, she reached out and took up the teapot, gently pouring a cup of tea for him. Pouring one for herself, and taking a sip, she continued, “The Link I knew was one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. He withstood the trials that were thrust upon him with his head held high and his feet planted firmly in his beliefs and his skills.”

As Link listened in silence, his brain began to itch.

She went on, “He was a rather quiet young man — never one to complain about his challenges. He knew from experience that they would come and go, and that he would take them as they came, always reassured that his strength would pull him through.”

Impa’s eyes searched Link’s for a moment before she finished, “I looked up to him in that regard. His example helped me through some tough times, and it continues to do so, even now. I’ve always wanted to thank him, but, unfortunately, I haven’t seen him in one hundred years. It seems I have missed my opportunity.”

Link’s heart sank a little at that. He was beginning to think she had recognized him. But why would she? Not with his face. It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what he used to look like, but he wasn’t able to give it much thought.

A short pause followed, wherein Impa’s wise gaze seemed to delve directly into Link’s soul. Goosebumps ran over his skin, and he flushed with nervous heat, beads of sweat building on his neck.

He remained silent until she finally said, “It seems you share a name with that ancient hero, but… I’m not so sure on the rest. You certainly aren’t subtle like he was,” she said slyly, making Link purse his lips and stiffen. “Which brings me to why I called you here…

“Link,” she began.

Link blinked away his stupor at her words, listening.

Impa continued, “I’m afraid that, because of last night’s… incident… I am now down a set of hands for chores around the village. With Dorian out of commission, and with the threat of the Yiga Clan so high at the moment, I need Cado to guard me around the clock while Dorian rests.” Link snuck a glance to Cado, stood behind them with his arms folded. He looked back to Impa when she continued, “That leaves me with their extra work that I simply cannot do on my own, me being the age that I am. In light of this, I thought it best to put you to the task.

“I’m recruiting you to do some work around Kakariko,” she explained, much to Link’s shock. “Little odd jobs for my people. Whatever they need from you. I cannot say how difficult the tasks will be, and I can only promise compensation in the form of meals and a roof over your head until Dorian’s arm heals. You will stay in the village until then. I feel this could, possibly, make up for what occurred last night.”

Link, his heart hammering, nodded rapidly, “Yes, Lady Impa. I’ll do anything you ask. Anything, hopefully, to… to apologize… for what I did.”

He hung his head, his rigid posture sagging. Link sighed, asking timidly, “How… how is Dorian?”

Impa paused for a moment, replying reverently, “He is well. He is resting at home, with his daughters.”

Link’s head snapped up, his face flushing. “...He has children?” he gasped, suddenly overcome with another wave of disgust for what he did.

“Yes,” Impa replied, her expression solemn and her eyelids low. “Two beautiful girls. Koko and Cottla. They, with my granddaughter, Paya, are taking care of him.” She leaned forward upon taking in Link’s wilted face, saying, “Don’t you worry about old Dorian, Link. He’s seen much, and it’s made him tough. He’ll be just fine. I’m sure he’s grateful for the time he can spend with them, now that he’s being forced to relax.”

Even with Impa’s reassurance, Link still felt awful. The hunger in his gut mutated into caustic guilt that tightened his throat and stole his breath. Even so, he knew that Impa’s proposition was exactly what he needed to do make up for what he’d done, no matter how poorly he might be treated. It was the least he could do.

Tightening his fists, Link looked Impa in the eyes, more than determined to set things right.

“Where should I start?” he asked.


	9. Helping Hands and Contraband

Before Cado could grab Link and shove him out the door, Impa insisted on feeding Link a decent breakfast; he’d need all the strength he could get to take on the odd jobs around the village. That didn’t inspire Link with confidence for the coming day, but he figured he had to put in hard work to make up for what he’d done. He was astonished at Impa’s hospitality, but, not wishing to be rude — and in need of a means to quiet his moaning stomach — he humbly accepted her offer.

Cado, however, disproved, though he held his tongue; he wouldn’t dare impose on Impa’s decision. Standing back, he watched over the two of them with his arms folded and his mouth warped into a frown as Impa procured their breakfast. Link did his best to ignore the old man’s scowl bearing into the side of his head as he dined with Impa.

Even under Cado’s scrutiny, Link rather enjoyed Impa’s company. She smiled warmly across the table at him, looking upon him like a treasured grandson come to visit. Amidst light conversation about the weather and her comments on his ratty clothes, she refilled his teacup several times with an earthy, slightly-sweet Sheikah tea, encouraging him to take second helpings of the meal they shared.

Link didn’t object to her offer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so well, thoroughly enjoying a bed of steamed rice beneath a plump, piping-hot omelette stuffed with meaty chunks of pumpkin, onion, and thick carrot slices. The omelette was hearty and satisfying, bursting with rich, rooty flavor. Link didn’t mind in the slightest taking another, all the while thanking Impa repeatedly for her kindness.

Link was so enthralled with his meal that he didn’t notice Impa studying him as he ate. In pensive silence, she took in Link’s mannerisms and his heartfelt thanks, archiving them in her mind. His appetite and manners certainly aligned with the person in her memory, but his alarming appearance, as well as his actions from the night before, betrayed who he seemed to be. Impa wasn’t entirely convinced of his identity, but she thought she’d wait and see what the day brought. Thankfully for her, she had eyes everywhere. He would be well watched over.

After Link cleared his plate and thanked Impa for the umpteenth time, Cado grew impatient. He stepped forward, grunting, “It’s nearly eight o’clock. The chores won’t do themselves, you know.”

Part of Link saddened at his persistence — he didn’t want to leave Impa just yet. She made him feel more welcome than he had ever felt, before. Truly, he felt somewhat at home for the first time in a century. But in spite of his desires, he knew he couldn’t mingle with her forever. Though Cado had phrased it gruffly, he was right; Link had a job to do — several, as a matter of fact.

Impa seemed to feel the same. She sighed, her bright countenance fading. “I suppose you’re right, Cado.” She faced Link with a shrug. “It appears our time together is up. Run along and get some work done, now. I’ll see you again in a little while. Work hard, and we just might do this again.”

Link rose to his feet, giving her an indebted smile, his heart as warm as his stomach. He found himself bowing slightly in gratitude to her. “I’d like that,” he said. “Thank you, again, Lady Impa, for your hospitality. I sincerely appreciate it.”

She left him with a parting smile of her own, a sparkle glinting in her eyes. “You are most certainly welcome, Link.”

He paused for half a moment, stunned by the way she said his name. There was a fond familiarity in it that stirred something inside him. Almost as if… she knew him.

He never got the chance to think deeper on it, however, as Cado wasted no time in putting him to work. Taking Link by the shoulder, Cado whirled him around and steered him away from Impa and towards the door. Link kept pace with him as they hustled in silence across the carpet. He grew a tad worried along the way about being left alone with the old man; there was no telling what he would do outside the watch of his elder.

Link soon realized that he had every right to be worried — as soon as they passed through the door’s threshold, Cado suddenly wrenched Link across the porch and out of Impa’s view. Without warning, he forced Link against the porch’s railing and yanked him close by the collar, his brows knit together and his eyes ablaze.

Link gasped and cowered beneath the old Sheikah, his heart stuttering. He suddenly became acutely aware of how vulnerable he was without a weapon. All he could do was listen in petrified silence as Cado unleashed his bottled-up anger upon him, hatred dripping from every word.

Lowering his voice, Cado growled, “Listen here, _beast_ — what you did last night was nothing short of barbaric. I spent all night with Dorian, witnessing firsthand the pain you caused him as he screamed while we realigned his bones.” He jammed a finger into Link’s face, making him flinch. “If you even _think_ about harming anyone else in this village, I will personally see to it that your blood and brains paint the walls of this valley! If you try _anything,_ anything at all, _I will know.”_ Eyes tightening, he continued, slowly, “Do I make myself clear?”

Link’s blood chilled under Cado’s venomous warning. His breath wavering, he shrunk away from the man’s face as much as he was allowed. He nodded timidly, his jaw locked and his eyes wide.

But that wasn’t good enough for Cado. “I want you to say it!” Cado demanded, pounding Link’s back against the railing till it creaked. “I said, _do I make myself clear?!”_

“Yes! Yes, completely!” Link stammered, his spine aching as Cado bore down on him, glaring knives.

A moment of intense silence followed as Cado sifted through Link’s petrified expression. He found only submission and fear in his glowing eyes and in the sweat trickling down from beneath his bone mask. Just what he wanted. To intimidate the beast.

Cado snorted. “It appears you have some sense in that skull of yours, after all. But do not mistake Lady Impa’s hospitality. I do not trust you. _We_ do not trust you. You are only alive because she sees something in you that the rest of us don’t.

“You have much to do, beast,” Cado continued. “Don’t keep my people waiting. Now, get out of my sight before I do something I shouldn’t.” With one final sneer, he shoved Link toward the stairs, nearly sending Link tumbling down them. Turning, Cado strode toward Impa’s door and began to make his way inside, his fists tight.

Though desperate to get away from Cado and his wrath, Link hesitated before leaving. “Wait!” he called, making Cado whip around. Forcing his voice out, Link asked, “Could I at least get my hood back? Please? I-I don’t want to... frighten anyone…”

Cado, his hands on both doors, cocked a brow. “What for?” he replied. “They’ve already been warned you’re coming.”

With that, he threw the doors shut with a boom, leaving Link to his own devices.

Link lingered on the porch for a moment or two out of sheer paralysis, the cool morning air turning the sheet of sweat on his skin to ice. He shivered, his mind reeling with Cado’s harsh words. Although, if he paused to think on it, he supposed could understand his hostility. Link hadn’t exactly made a good first impression.

Still, he had no earthly idea what to expect when he set to work throughout the village. Would the villagers be terrified of him, scurrying away before he had the chance to help? Or would they abuse him like a criminal, just as Cado had? Link didn’t like the prospect of either, but he knew that Impa had work for him to do. He’d at least keep his promise to her; she hadn’t treated him like he was subhuman.

Swallowing his dread at what was to come, Link turned and looked upon the village, wondering where to begin. From Impa’s porch, he could make out the nearby inn and what looked like a pair of shops to his right. Along the trail up the hill lay several houses, including the one with the cucco coop, as well as the clothing store. He couldn’t see any of the villagers yet, but he figured he’d make his rounds from the bottom of the valley upwards and see where that took him.

Perhaps he’d check if the innkeeper needed anything first?

Anxious as he was in the wake of Cado’s threats, Link still found solace in the quiet, tranquil morning as he set off toward the inn. A healthy breeze rustled through the grass and played with the clinking wooden banners strung overhead. The lingering smell of extinguished fires and dew tickled his senses. All around him, songbirds chirped above the telltale squawking of cuccos welcoming in the new day, the patchy clouds overhead aglow with the tawny light of dawn. No matter what happened, Link still felt he could appreciate the natural beauty around him. At least nature wouldn’t shy away from his appearance or spit in his face.

He was halfway across the grassy courtyard when the door to the inn swung open, out walking a somewhat familiar face. Link’s pace slowed as he recognized the white, brush-like updo and faded tattoo belonging the painter he had seen the night before.

Oblivious to Link, the painter strolled out of the inn, taking a deep lungful of the morning air, a blissful smile on his lips. With a fresh canvas, a bucket of brushes and paints, and his easel under his arms, he looked ready to begin a new painting, his eyes scanning the area for a good reference.

That was… until he noticed Link. The painter stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide and his relaxation fleeing in an instant. Horrified by the horned, dark figure walking toward him, he dropped everything he was carrying and darted back into the inn like a bolt of lightning, slamming the front door behind him.

Link ground to a halt at the man’s frantic reaction. His shoulders drooped, a groan escaping him. He wasn’t looking forward to inadvertently terrorizing Kakariko’s populace. But there was nothing to be done about that. He’d just have to grin and bear it, though that would prove easier said than done.

“Here we go again…” he sighed.

Link’s eyes fell on the painter’s abandoned supplies. Though not an errand, he figured he had to start somewhere. Making his way over to them lying in the grass, he picked them up one by one and proceeded toward the inn’s door, sliding it open with his foot.

He entered a large, dimly-lit, single-room inn with several beds and nightstands lining the walls, all softly illuminated with lanterns. The brilliant light pouring in from the door flooded the place and chased away the darkness, making the Sheikah man stood behind the front desk shield his eyes like a blinded bat.

As Link stood in the doorway, unsure of how to approach the situation, he caught a quick glance of the painter’s face peeking out from behind the front desk. He was crouched on the floor, cowering beside the innkeeper. When he met Link’s eyes, he gasped and retreated.

Link heard the painter squeak, “Ollie! Th-that’s _him!”_

The innkeeper, Ollie, kept his hands over his eyes. Even from Link’s place at the door, he could see him shaking.

“I-I don’t wanna look… I don’t wanna look…” Ollie muttered under his breath. “Maybe if I just don’t look, h-h-he’ll go away…!”

Their hysterical terror only made Link’s heart shrivel in his chest. Who knew what they had been told to expect? A raging, hellish monster bent on slaughtering them to slake his bloodlust, most likely. He knew his appearance might have conveyed that, but he hoped his actions would change their perception of him. He just prayed he’d get the chance to show them who he was — who he _truly_ was, hidden behind the mask.

Chewing his lip, Link slowly approached the front desk, his eyes low and his steps cautious.

Ollie, his hands still pressed over his face, didn’t acknowledge Link as he stood for a moment across from him. He shook so violently the chopsticks slid into his silvery bun rattled together.

Link cleared his throat, wondering softly, “Erm… excuse me?”

Ollie wheezed into his palms in explosive panic. After a moment, he peeked between his fingers at Link, only to spiral with fear at the sight of him, his sleepy eyes widening and his breath laboring in and out of his lungs.

“Ack! Don’t hurt me! I’m too young!” he screeched, making Link jump. Ollie, too scared to move, endeavored to make himself smaller. “J-just tell me what you want! A free bed, my life’s savings — anything! Just please, don’t hurt me! I like my arms the way they are!”

Link, slightly hurt, fought back memories of Dorian’s arm snapping. He peered across the desk to the painter squatting behind it, proposing, “Actually, I was just returning these… That man dropped them outside. I... thought he might want them back?”

Ollie risked a glance through his fingers to watch Link set the easel, paints, and canvas on the desk as carefully as though he were handling delicate explosives. Link then took a step back, clasping his hands and giving Ollie some space. He didn’t want the poor man to faint. That would only add fuel to the blazing fire that was his reputation with the Sheikah.

A long, awed silence followed, the only sound in the air Ollie’s quivering breath. “Pikango,” Ollie whispered, his gaze locked on the canvas. “Your stuff. H-he brought it back.”

The painter, who Link now knew as Pikango, poked his head out from behind the desk. His eyes found his supplies before traveling to Link, where they lingered. He stared, perhaps several moments too long, before he managed to choke out, “Why, er… thank you… _sir.”_

Link offered him as pleasant a smile as he could muster, though when coupled with his fierce, fang-laced bone mask and emotionless glowing eyes, he only succeeded in making Pikango’s face twitch.

“Don’t mention it,” Link replied. Turning his gaze to Ollie, he proposed, “Er… if you need any help, I’d be happy to lend a hand — ”

Finding himself the center of Link’s attention only flustered Ollie further. He reacted as though Link had just thrust a sword to his throat, leaning back and hyperventilating.

“ _Okay, okay!”_ Ollie stammered, diving below the desk and emerging with a bolt of midnight-blue fabric in his arms. He practically threw it across the desk and into Link’s face, whacking him in his bony nose. “Here’s some fabric we just got from Hateno,” Ollie sputtered. “Deliver it to Lasli and Claree at Enchanted. _Please, just take it and leave me alone!”_

One of Link’s fangs accidentally popped a seam from the fabric when it hit him. He winced upon seeing it, but ignored it, replying, “A-all right. Thank you. Er… have a nice day.” He added, looking upon Pikango as he slowly rose from the floor, “You too, Pikango. Thanks again.”

His skin itching in the dense atmosphere, Link quickly saw himself out without a second glance behind him.

The moment after he closed the door to the inn, he heard a heavy thump from inside — someone had collapsed. Link froze, cringing on the doorstep. He had a feeling he knew who it was. After taking a quick survey of the area, Link hurried down the stairs and banked a right. He didn’t want to make any more of a scene than he already had.

His head ducked low, he scurried across the grass, his mind surging with dismay at the fear he’d stricken into Ollie and Pikango. As he sped to a destination he didn’t know, he could only pray that he wouldn’t leave a trail of petrified villagers in his wake as he made his way throughout Kakariko. That would be just the justification Cado needed to spray the valley walls with his blood. And Link knew he would do so happily.

The thought sent a shudder down Link’s spine and quickened his pace. Walking in a blind haste away from the inn, he passed Impa’s house and found himself striding up the nearby hill. The cacophonous clucking of cuccos in their pen filled his ears as he passed the cucco house and the clothing shop without a second thought, his mind abuzz and his breakfast frothing in his gut.

He frowned into his bones glowing through his fingers. Who was he kidding, trying to help the Sheikah? No matter the merit of his intentions, he just couldn’t seem to do anything right. And it was all because of his cursed appearance. He ground his teeth, briefly wondering how many more lives he would ruin that day. How many more bones he’d break, how many panic attacks he’d trigger. He supposed he’d find out in due time, but part of him begged to simply leave the village behind and head back into the wild.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not without the Slate.

Oh, the Slate. Amazingly, he hadn’t even thought about it until just then. Even considering his bizarre, desperate reaction for it the night before — not to mention what had happened because of that — he still wanted it. All the same, he couldn’t quite fathom why he had lashed out in such a way. Crazed, almost feral. It was almost as if the Slate was a part of him — a part so deeply connected that it drove them both insane when ripped from its companion.

But the idea in and of itself was preposterous. The Slate wasn’t _part_ of him. It was just that. A Slate. A device. It wasn’t as if it had any _life_ in it, right?

 _...Right?_ Link thought to no one.

With his mind swarming like a beehive, he had unconsciously walked well past the next set of houses when his senses returned to him. Beneath the shade of a tree, he looked over the blue fabric in his arms. Shaking off his worries, he returned his mind to Impa’s tasks. Where was he supposed to deliver the fabric to, again?

The clothing shop, surely. Link turned and looked down the trail, setting his eyes on the sign above the shop’s front door depicting an oversized Sheikah coat. It must have been Enchanted. If not, he’d ask for directions. That, of course, entailed meeting more of the villagers. Wonderful.

Doubling back, Link had no sooner passed the nearby houses when the front door to his right opened, a brisk set of excited footsteps meeting his ears.

“Cottla! Come back, sweetie, you haven’t finished your breakfast!” someone called from inside the house.

Link’s head jerked over to investigate. He abruptly lost all sense of purpose, stopping when he spotted a Sheikah child darting out of the house. He hadn’t seen any children in his stay thus far, and he was surprised to find that the Sheikah, no matter their age, all possessed pale, shimmering hair.

The little girl before him was no exception. She couldn’t have been more than four years old, with rosy, chubby cheeks and cute, looped hair that bobbed with each bouncing step she took. She burst out the door with a broad smile on her face, giggling to herself.

She had only reached the grass when she, too, stopped entirely, her big, rich brown eyes traveling up Link until they found his face. Link retreated slightly, preparing himself for the impending shrieking.

But, to his amazement, the little girl didn’t cry. Instead, her smile only grew. “Wow…!” she beamed. “You have a funny face!”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that. Her words brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. Funny. He hadn’t been called that, yet. Somehow, that lifted his spirits.

Link didn’t have long to enjoy the little girl’s refreshing company, for they were soon joined. Another person emerged from the house, out of breath from scrambling to grab the little girl. This time, Link recognized them — it was Impa’s granddaughter, Paya.

“Cottla! Cottla, come back — ” she began, only to cut herself off when her gaze met Link’s. She gasped and stumbled back into the doorframe, bumping her head against it. “O-oh! It’s you!” she breathed, her cheeks flushing. “I… er…”

Paya’s eyes flew to the little girl, still enraptured with Link. “Um… C-Cottla, come here, sweetie,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “You need to finish your rice before you can play… R-remember?”

The little girl, Cottla, was too engrossed with Link to do as she was told. She pointed to his face, cheering, “Look, Paya, look at the funny man! He’s got spikeys! And stars for eyes!” She bounded up the stairs and grabbed Paya by the hand, tugging at her in vain to bring her to Link. Paya remained rooted to her place, rigid as a statue.

“Look, Paya, look!” Cottla repeated. “You’re not looking!”

Only Paya _was_ looking. She gaped at Link, her body taut, as if expecting him to lash forward at any moment. It pained Link to see someone so mortally afraid of him that they wouldn’t dare break eye contact — especially someone as timid and kind as Paya. She held her ground like a cornered, frightened animal.

As Link stood, his cheeks heating up beneath their gazes, something caught his eye. His gaze wandered down to Paya’s hip, where he caught a split-second glance of a familiar magenta light beckoning to him from beneath the hem of her coat. She gave a small gasp when she took notice of his staring, tugging down her coat.

She had the Slate.

Without warning, Link’s gut gave an involuntary roll, his muscles seizing up as he suppressed a sudden lurching from deep inside him. He ingrained his fingertips into the fabric, grinding his jaw shut and wrenching his eyes away from Paya and into the dirt.

 _No,_ he grunted to himself. _I won’t! I won’t do that again! Not to her. Not to anyone!_

As he fought the overwhelming urge to charge forward to reclaim the Slate, he found himself under the scrutiny of a new set of eyes. Having heard the commotion from outside, the owner of the house leaned over to peer through the open doorway.

Link’s heart dropped into his writhing stomach when their gazes met.

Dorian.

Even with the dark circles hanging beneath his eyes, he seemed to have been enjoying his morning — seated at a low breakfast table laid with teacups and bowls, his broken right arm cradled in a sling. But the moment their eyes met, the old man’s countenance completely transformed, his face mutating into a wicked snarl. Abandoning his breakfast, he began to get to his feet, his teeth bared.

Link tensed for the worst, ready to take off running. But in Dorian’s rage-fueled haste, he neglected to pay heed to his arm. Attempting to push himself up from the table via his wounded limb, his arm spiked with pain as his fracture split. In an instant, his face twisted and he gave a cry, crumbling into the floor in a heap.

Paya and Cottla both whipped their heads toward the house. In their distraction, Link was half-tempted to make his escape, but something kept him in his place. He yearned to help somehow, but he knew he wouldn’t get the chance. Not with Dorian. He remained where he was, watching the scene play out, an omen brewing in his gut.

As Dorian grunted and clutched his sling, another little girl sprang from her cushion and rushed for him, worrying, “Father?! Oh no, are you okay?!”

She must have been Cottla’s older sister; they looked incredibly similar, if not for their sizes. Although she appeared only seven years old, she flew into action with a pot of ointment and a cloth, ready to aid her father.

As he lay stiff on the floorboards, she carefully peeked under his sling. Before she had the chance to dab his skin with her ointment, Dorian sat up and gathered her close to his chest with his good arm, his eyes honed in on Link. They were aglow with a hot, defensive fire, burning into his face and refusing to let him go.

Confused at her father’s reaction, the girl peeked over her shoulder and out the doorway, her gaze falling immediately on Link’s dark figure. Unlike her sister, she didn’t find him quite as fascinating. Not at all. Her little body locked up beneath her father’s hold, her eyes widening with terror.

Her young, petrified expression broke something inside Link — something he’d never forgive himself for. But it was the high-pitched scream that escaped from her mouth that utterly destroyed him. Suddenly breathless, he jolted away as if he had been physically beaten, taking a few steps back on unstable knees, his throat cinching nearly shut.

At that moment, he felt completely and totally _monstrous._

As the tension in the air bore down on all of them like a relentless rain, Paya broke her paralysis, foreseeing disaster. She took one glance between Dorian and Link, and in one swift movement, scooped up Cottla, placed her into her house, and drew the door shut.

She kept her back to Link for several eternal moments, barring the door against Cottla’s little fists banging against it. When the girl was finally pulled away, Paya paused, took a deep breath, and slowly came around to face Link.

Upon bringing herself to meet his eyes, she struggled to even out the vibrato in her voice. She wasn’t so sure she could handle being alone with him — only, something about him had changed. She didn’t notice it until she finally found the courage to muse, “G-grandmother said that that would be inevitable…”

Link stood, numb, his blood icing over in his veins — the scream of Dorian’s daughter was like a knife in his mind, shredding his resolve to ribbons. It took ages for him to coax his response off of his tongue.

“...Your grandmother is a wise woman,” he murmured.

His voice hardly carried over the light breeze. It was hoarse. Ruined. Though she only just heard him, Paya nevertheless stiffened as he spoke. It was jarring, hearing him speak — his calm voice didn’t suit his face.

All the same, she couldn’t ignore the pain in his voice. Something stirred inside her upon recognizing it. She listened intently as he added, “I’ve never met anyone like Impa. You and your people are lucky to have her as your elder.”

Paya, studying his wilted posture, replied, “It’s a blessing, yes.” Pausing, her mind raced for something to say beyond rigid small talk. Ultimately, she decided to reroute their conversation. “Erm… Grandmother asked me to watch over you today as you go ab-bout errands. She received a list of chores from the villagers.” Gesturing to the bolt of fabric he carried, she said, “Ollie needed that delivered to Enchanted, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He mentioned that,” Link replied. “I was just on my way over, when… well…” He trailed off, his voice catching in his throat. Truth be told, he almost didn’t have the strength to face more rejection. Not after Dorian’s daughter.

A passing gust of wind left them both in silence for a moment.

“Um… Well…” Paya muttered, wringing her hands together. Her next words clung to her tongue until she practically spit them out. “I th-think it might be best if... _I_ delivered the fabric to them.”

Link’s ears perked up, his brows furrowing slightly. She went on, “Lasli and Claree can be a little… skittish. A-and Olkin needs help with the harvest; he’s been complaining about his knees. Y-you should do that next.”

Link gave a nod. “Okay.”

Though they were in agreement, neither of them moved for a moment — Link, unsure of where to go; Paya, battling against her heart stampeding in her chest. Gathering her courage, she proposed, “Here… erm… l-let me t-take that…”

To Link’s amazement, Paya stepped toward him, almost on tiptoe, before she reached out and gingerly pulled the bolt of fabric out of his hands. She didn’t meet his eyes and abstained from touching him as she did so, but that didn’t register to Link — he was too stunned by her borderline-courageous act of doing him a kindness to notice. He simply let the bolt slip out of his limp fingers, his horror at himself dissolving in lieu of humble awe.

Maybe there was more to Paya than he originally thought? Even that small act of service… it meant the world to him.

With her delivery in her possession, she took several quick steps back and hugged the fabric close, her eyes flitting between Link and the clothing shop just down the path. “You, er, w-wait here. Please. I-I’ll be right back — ”

She suddenly swiveled and darted down the trail, leaving Link thunderstruck. He watched her knock on the door of Enchanted and hand the fabric off to someone he couldn’t see. Once she had delivered it, she bade them goodbye and rejoined Link.

Motioning toward a nearby offshoot of the trail, she said softly, “Olkin’s patch is this way.”

Link hesitated before making his way over to the patch. He couldn’t pull his eyes from her. He abruptly saw Paya in a different light — and it was nothing short of wonderful.

With something fluttering around in his chest, he murmured, “...Thank you… Paya.”

He wasn’t sure what to label her reaction to his thanks, and neither could she. Either way, she couldn’t stop her cheeks from flushing pink. Without a word, she ducked her head and shuffled off down the new trail, where Link followed her suit.

In his newfound appreciation for her, he completely forgot that she had the Sheikah Slate.

Paya lead him across a low bridge spanning a brook and past several signposts until they arrived at last at the pumpkin patch. The spot was hidden from the main trail, surrounded by swaying sakura trees and guarded by a fence. Several dozen pumpkins huddled in rows in the soil, their grower already hard at work on them.

When Paya called out to him and introduced Link, the man gave a jolt not unlike anything Link had seen prior. At the very least, however, Olkin didn’t take off screaming, instead lingering to guard his garden. Link’s meeting with Olkin went about as well as the others had, albeit with Olkin beholding him as though he were on fire, threatening to destroy his crops.

Olkin initially held resignations against Link offering his hand. But after some convincing from his achy knees and Paya’s quiet reassurance, Olkin relented, though his grimace never faded from beneath his unkempt beard.

Not wishing to repeat what had happened at the inn, Link kept conversation to a minimum and his head down, setting himself to work snipping the pumpkins from their vines. Olkin kept an almost hawk-like watch on him; he was convinced Link’s dark condition would somehow pollute his crops. After Link eventually left, Olkin scrutinized each and every pumpkin that he touched, hunting for impurities. Thankfully, he came up short.

True to her grandmother’s request, Paya oversaw Link’s efforts with Olkin, as well as with the other villagers as she accompanied him from errand to errand. As the day grew long, she gradually grew a tad more comfortable with Link, and he with her, though she still maintained a healthy distance between them at all times. Kind and helpful as he was, she kept the memory of his attack on Dorian fresh in her mind. She knew what he was capable of. Neither of them would ever forget it.

The two of them made their rounds in the village, visiting everyone on Impa’s list. Link rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed the floors of High Spirits Produce, the local food market, while the shopkeeper, Trissa, cowered on a stool in the corner. Later, Link was forced to sit outside and carve arrows for the arrow shop owner, Rola, while she gaped at him through her window. He scared her half to death when he entered the shop to ask for a bandage after he managed to cut himself. She promptly dumped a roll of cloth on the desk and asked him not to drip his magenta blood on her rugs.

By midafternoon, the cut on Link’s palm was throbbing, his back was sore, and his muddy clothes clung to his sweat-soaked skin. Desperate as he was for a break, Link didn’t complain, even through his body’s groaning. At the end of the day, he was happy to pay back what he had done to Dorian, even if the villagers still gave him a wide berth and whispered behind his back.

Unfortunately for Link, his day wasn’t about to get any better. His next task brought him back to Cado, stood at the crest of Impa’s stairs. He wore a smug grin and tossed something at Link’s feet. It was a tiny metal spoon, no bigger than Link’s pinkie finger.

Link’s brows crinkled as he held it up. “What should I do with this?” he asked.

Cado chuckled. “My cuccos would certainly appreciate it if you cleaned out their coop. Now that I am on constant guard for Lady Impa, I’ve had no time to maintain it.” With a wicked glint in his eye, he sneered, “You have fun, now.”

So Cado owned the coop, then. Link endeavored to hide his disdain, knowing that it would only please the old Sheikah. Grinding his teeth, he took the spoon, marched to the cucco coop, and ducked inside it on hand and knee, scraping away at the petrified clumps of cucco feces caking the floor.

As he labored in the coop, Paya sat on Cado’s porch, grimacing at Link’s gagging. She felt that this task was a tad cruel, but she kept it to herself. While Link chiseled away, she took a moment to look out at a bank of thick storm clouds approaching above the mountaintops. Even in the golden midafternoon light, they remained dark and imposing, their bellies painted a deep, stony blue with water. She prayed that the rain would come soon and relieve Link of his chores for the day.

Sadly, the clouds took their time in that regard. He spent the next hour and a half scratching away every scrap of cucco feces he could until he couldn’t breathe. Gasping, he shimmied out of the coop and gulped fresh air into his lungs before casting aside his spoon onto Cado’s porch.

Link gave a heavy sigh, smearing away the sweat on his upper lip with his wrist. The smell of the coop oozed out of his skin, curling his nostrils.

“Done,” he breathed, kicking his handiwork into the grass. He glanced to Paya. “Are there any chores I missed?”

She looked over his work. “I… don’t think so. Er… wait, not quite…” She thought back on her mental list. When it dawned on her just what it was, she winced, saying shyly, “Just one task left for the day, I’m afraid. But… perhaps we ought to... skip this one…”

Link tilted his head. “What for? What is it?”

She hesitated to reply, chewing her lip. “...Dorian needs his floors swept.”

Link blinked, the muscles in his neck tightening. He had been so preoccupied with the rest of the villagers that he had forgotten about Dorian — part of him would have rathered it stay that way, but another part of him rose to the occasion.

“No,” he said firmly, looking into his hands. “...I can’t skip Dorian. It’s the least I can do for him. The very least.”

Now that he was thinking on it, he wasn’t looking forward to doing the deed, but it had to be done. After all, he would only be sweeping. He just hoped Dorian would allow him to even step foot into his home without going for his throat.

Though they were both dreading it, Paya nevertheless lead Link up the road to Dorian’s house. The door was still shut from earlier that morning. Paya remained in her place outside, her hands clasped, as Link proceeded into the lion’s den.

Link swallowed his anxiety and climbed the steps to Dorian’s front door. He knocked twice, half-hoping he wouldn’t get an answer. But, just to his luck, someone responded.

“Come in,” came Dorian’s gruff voice.

Link eased the door open, carefully stepping inside. He endeavored to make as little sound as possible, padding in cautiously, his eyes soaking in the cozy, single-room home. A bed occupied the farthest corner, the walls were lined with shelves and talismans, and hand-carved wooden toys lay scattered about. It appeared neither Cottla nor her sister were around.

Link froze when he spotted Dorian, seated directly across from the front door, leaned against the wall. He sat beside a shelf stocked with books and vases of various sizes, a broom and dustpan propped up against it. He rested his broken arm in his lap, glaring at Link in the fading light in complete silence, his nose wrinkled and his jaw locked.

Dorian’s eyes trailed Link from the tips of his short horns to his ragged shoes, perusing him with disgust. Finding himself again under Dorian’s unflinching scowl made Link hesitant to move, though he fidgeted in his own skin.

They merely watched each other for what felt like centuries before Dorian growled, “Well? What are you waiting for? Sweep the place, already, if that’s what you’re here to do.”

Link gave a timid nod, casting his eyes down. “Of course,” he murmured, striding across the floor and taking the broom by the handle. He proceeded to skirt along the perimeter of the house, picking up toys and cushions Once the floor was clear, he began to run the broom along the floorboards.

As he worked, he didn’t dare move too quickly, for fear he’d upset Dorian, somehow. He didn’t want to risk the chance that the old man was hiding his sword somewhere in the house, waiting for an opportunity to use it. He ensured he kept Dorian in the corner of his eye at all times, and screwed his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted was to say something that would send Dorian’s already-bubbling wrath to volatile levels.

The reverent swishing of the broom against the floor was the only sound in the thick, heavy air. The silence filled Link’s ears near to bursting, pressing against his skin. At every turn he made, he felt the weight of Dorian’s stare boring into him. The old man trained his eyes on his guest, scrutinizing even the way he walked — peering through his transparent skin, he was disturbed by the way his bones drifted inside him. The sight flooded his brain with questions and revile.

At long last, Link gathered a neat pile of dust in the center of the house. He swept it over to the front door and brushed it outside before giving the room one last look-over. The floor was noticeably cleaner; he figured he had done his job. And not a moment too soon. Without giving the old man a second glance, Link quietly set the broom against a wall, and began to make his way out.

But something stopped him. A loud crash issued from behind him, and he whirled around, startled. He found Dorian still in his place, his eyes still locked on him. Scattered across the floorboards beside him were the fractured remains of a ceramic pot, as well as its contents — thousands of grains of rice, sprayed in all directions.

A chill came over Link, then. He could only stand in silence as Dorian glowered at him from across the room.

“Oh, dear,” Dorian mused, his voice flat. “It appears that my broken arm has made me drop my rice pot.” A flicker of a smirk tempted his lips. “Clumsy me.”

Link’s stomach turned over at the raw contempt radiating from Dorian. He had only seen its equivalent in King Rhoam’s first impression of him. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Link took up the broom, again, as well as the dust pan, and strode over to Dorian.

Link sunk to his knees, sweeping the rice grains and ceramic shards into a pile. As he gathered them into the dust pan, he felt the pressure of Dorian’s glare against his face. Only this time, it didn’t intimidate him. No, it only made him want to end it. Link was honestly trying to settle things, yet Dorian refused civility. He hoped they could talk it out.

That was just what he attempted to do. With a bloom of courage from nowhere, Link spoke up, his voice miraculously level. “Dorian, I… can understand why you’re angry with me — ”

“Angry?” Dorian interrupted. Link, shocked, snapped his head up to face him. “Oh, no, I’m not angry,” Dorian continued, shaking his head.

He then leaned into Link’s face, growling, “I’m _furious.”_ Link could only listen as Dorian proceeded to snarl, “I have dutifully served as Lady Impa’s guard for over a decade, now, and I have never questioned her judgement once. Until you came along.” His brows tightened over his flaming eyes. “Somehow you’ve planted into her mind the inconceivable notion that you can be trusted. That you are who we’ve been waiting for! The hero straight out of a legend.

“ _You,”_ Dorian spat, gesturing to Link’s face. “This.... horrifying monstrosity of horns and teeth and eyes! You are nothing more than a demon crusading in human form.” Throughout his tirade, Link remained still as stone, when, without provocation, Dorian surged forward and seized a handful of Link’s shirt with his good arm, pulling him close. His breath was hot against Link’s face. “She gave you a bed. She fed you. She trusted you to help her people, when she clearly saw what you were capable of!”

Dorian grit his teeth. “I can’t comprehend it! What does she see in you?!” Tightening his grip, he hissed, “ _Why in the name of the gods above should we trust you?!”_

Link drew in several shaky breaths through his nose, searching through Dorian’s mangled expression. His heart raced in his chest as he said, slowly, “Because I’m trying to set things right.” Dorian blinked at that. Link went on, “For you, for your village, _and_ for Hyrule.” He then shook his head, much to Dorian’s astonishment. “And I’ll do it no matter what I look like. And I won’t rest until it’s done.”

A brief silence followed. Dorian appeared to have been stricken speechless. Link stared intently into his eyes, finishing, “Now, I’d appreciate it if you let me do my job.”

Unfortunately, Link’s response only sent Dorian into an explosive rage. His breath began to rush in and out of his nostrils in heavy bursts, his muscles tensing as he roared, “Why, you devil! _How dare you speak to me like that?! I’ll kill you!”_

Link pitched himself back to avoid an attack he was anticipating, but Dorian had knotted his fingers into his shirt. As Link retreated, Dorian’s firm grip tore his shirt nearly in half with an audible rip, making Link stagger.

They both stared at what remained of Link’s shirt, agape, when the brisk snapping of footsteps found them. They turned their gazes to the door as Paya stampeded into the house, her eyes enormous at the sight she beheld. Her lips firming, she tightened her fists at her sides, and commanded, “Link,” — he shivered when she said his name — “Grandmother is calling for you. C-come right away. Please.”

Link, his mouth set in a line, gave Dorian one final glance before he straightened, turned, and followed Paya out of the house. He left the old Sheikah with a few scraps of his worn shirt, as well as the shattered aftermath of their rice-and-ceramic warfare to keep him company.

Link was certainly grateful that Paya had rescued him, but he nevertheless squirmed against a foul feeling deep inside him. In all truth, he was thoroughly disturbed by Dorian’s almost inhuman behavior — memories of their argument haunted him for the remainder of the night, clouding his mind through the brief bath he took, all throughout dinner (which, incredibly, he hardly noticed), and even up until Cado had shackled him back in Impa’s attic.

Alone with his thoughts, Link sat in the dark, his humble bed and his thoughts illuminated only just by the soft magenta light emanating through his skin. Though it sent his mind spiraling, he could understand Dorian’s hostility — after all, Link was the one who had disturbed their peaceful lives and broken the man’s arm without provocation.

Even so, Link felt that his efforts in helping the villagers at least warranted giving him a second chance. Mostly everyone in the village had, either voluntarily or not… except for Dorian. No, he simply refused to see Link as anything more than a dark blot on their village that needed to be exterminated at the end of a blade. The reality of that wasn’t lost on Link, but it stung all the same.

Link stewed over his day for longer than he could keep track of. His mind churned for several hours into the night; his head was full to spilling with a slurry of emotions, drooping into his shoulder as he eventually began to doze off. He had certainly earned himself a good night’s sleep.

He just hoped he wouldn’t relive his day in his dreams. Those chores had been something else, and he hadn’t particularly enjoyed a few of them. Although, if he could dream of spending time with Impa and Paya, then perhaps he wouldn’t mind so much. The two of them had been the highlight of his day.

He had only just shut his eyes when a sound from downstairs roused him out of his exhausted stupor: a heavy thud that rolled through the house like thunder. The sound mimicked what he had heard earlier that day at the inn — like someone falling to the floor.

Link sat up a little, his face scrunched up in confusion. He wondered if someone had slammed a door too hard. Some time passed as he listened for any other sounds. Nothing. He almost fell back asleep when he heard another thump, followed shortly by a muffled cry.

His heart leapt in his chest, snapping him awake.

 _That sounded like a voice,_ he panicked. A girl’s voice. What was going on?

A sudden onslaught of worry tumbled around inside Link, rattling his bones and churning his stomach. Tossing away his blanket, he tried to make a beeline to the trap door to investigate, only to remember that he was shackled. This time, Cado had secured his bonds with extra weights in the form of old statues and tables, ensuring he couldn’t wander far. Eager to find out what was going on downstairs, Link futilely pulled against his chains and tried to slip his hands out, but ultimately ended up bruising himself.

“Urgh,” he grunted under his breath. “How do I get out of here?!”

Link continued to try and find a means of escape. His chains were clacking together so loudly that he didn’t notice the approach of someone from downstairs until the trap door had been swung open, and warm, flickering lantern light filled the room. He froze, turning his head to the figure drifting slowly towards him from out of the darkness.

It was Paya. Only something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

“Paya?!” he gasped. The shadows against her face made her seem ghostly. “What’s going on down there? I thought I heard something.”

She didn’t reply, only shuffling forward ever so slightly. She shook like a leaf, her lantern rattling, her breath raspy and weak.

“Paya, are you okay?” Link asked, his neck tingling.

“I-I — n-need your help — Link,” she finally whimpered, coming to a stop before him.

Now that she had come close enough, Link saw her in a shocking state: her hair had been violently wrenched from its bun, leaving it a disheveled, knotted mess. Link’s eyes traced the long lines of shiny tears streaking down her face. Illuminated by the lantern light, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a bruise smudged across her cheekbone, as big as his palm and black as night.

Link’s heart dropped into his stomach. Without thinking, he came forward and laid his hands on Paya’s shoulders. She flinched almost invisibly, but she didn’t fight him. She simply stood, her body as numb as her face.

“Who did this to you?!” Link demanded.

“It was… I-it was…” Paya gasped, struggling to hold back a fresh wave of tears. “A Y-Yiga clansman. A man. H-he was s-so big, s-so cruel.” She paused for a moment to regain her breath. “H-he snuck in, knocked Cado out and threatened to b-break Grandmother’s neck unl-less I gave him what he w-wanted.”

Link wasn’t sure what the Yiga were, exactly, but he already hated them. Though it killed him to see Paya stammer against her tears, he continued to probe her for information.

“What did he want, Paya?” he asked.

She sniffled, not daring to meet his eyes. Gulping, she whispered, “ _The Sheikah Slate._ Forgive me — I had to. He was going to hurt Grandmother. He was going to — !!”

The poor girl broke down, then, melting into sobs and hiding behind her hands. Though the Yiga had gone, his presence still lingered with her. Something came over Link, then. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and gather her close to him, squeezing her; she crumbled into his embrace.

“Paya, Paya, it’s okay. Don’t apologize,” he murmured softly in her ear. “You were very brave. I’m proud of you.”

They held each other for a while in silence. Paya sobbed into Link’s chest, shaking uncontrollably as he attempted to soothe her, stroking her back and reassuring her that she had done well.

“I was s-so scared…” she breathed between her tears. “I th-thought I would die…”

Something seared through Link’s veins at her words, igniting a fire inside him. “I’ll find him,” he said. “I’ll make him pay. Get back the Slate. I promise. You stay here, with Impa. I’m going after him.”

He had no time to lose — but thanks to his shackles, he had to stop and consider things. To Link’s amazement, Paya came prepared, removing his shackle key from her pocket and releasing him. Now a man on a mission, Link took her by the shoulder and escorted her out of the attic, down the stairs, and back into the main room of the house.

There, he met with an unsettling scene. Cado lay strewn against the rug like a ragdoll, unconscious. An open window let in the damp smell of a rainstorm, the night wind slapping at the flags dangling along the ceiling and stuttering the candles. Rain whispered against the walls. Impa, her conical hat missing, knelt beside Cado, her hands rested gently on his forehead.

When Link and Paya entered the room, Impa glanced up for a moment. Her face had no emotion, no color. She said nothing as Link left her granddaughter with her, picked up Cado’s sword, and exchanged a long, firm glance with the two of them as they knelt beside each other. His heart hardened as he beheld the enormous bruise marring Paya’s cheek.

“I’ll be back,” he promised.

Securing the strap of Cado’s scabbard, Link turned, burst through the double doors, and darted into the night.


	10. Thick as Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Sammy here!  
> Okay, so I'm very new to this site, so I'm still figuring out how this works. On my sister account, I normally include author's notes before and after the chapters, but I haven't figured out how to do it until now.  
> And I figured it out at the perfect time! I am blown away by the support I have received on this site. Corrupted Hero is going to be happy here I can already tell. :) Thank you so much for your support, readers new and old. I hope you're enjoying the story so far and that I can continue to entertain you.  
> Which brings me to the topic of this chapter heading. I rated this story as T and up. As a warning, this chapter is a bit violent. In addition, if you've read the story before, you'll know how this chapter ends. It gets a bit... intense. Don't say I didn't warn you. That said, this chapter is one of my all-time favorites. :)  
> Anyway, I want to thank each and everyone one of you for your support. As a special treat, the following chapters will be much longer. Read on, and enjoy!

Needles of icy rain pricked Link’s skin as he thundered down Impa’s staircase. With each pounding step he took, the memory of Paya, bruised and sobbing, burned within skull, driving his feet with a righteous haste he had never felt before. He moved like a man possessed. His gaze fixed ever forward, he gripped the hilt of Cado’s sword with glowing knuckles, steadying it as it bounced against his hip, his jaw clenched and his heart racing.

He had to find that thief.

Even if it took him all night, he would find him. Even if the rain soaked him through to his magenta bones. Even if he had to chase him out of the village like a dog, _he would find that thief._ Though the thought of facing such a dangerous person sent flickers of fear between Link’s ribs — as he had yet to stand up to someone like that — he wouldn’t back down now. He couldn’t. Something inside him forbade it.

No, he would find the thief — and he would make him pay. No matter what it took.

Link stampeded down the stairs in a few seconds flat, hitting the muddy ground with a splash. He slowed his pace, casting his eyes about. Over the last several hours, the stormbank from earlier that afternoon had consumed the valley, casting a peaceful, diaphanous mist upon the village that thickened the shadows and lowered visibility. At that late hour, with all but a few of the village’s lanterns extinguished, Link could only just make out the silhouettes of the houses and trees nearby — a fact that made him anxious. He prayed he’d be able to find the thief amidst the damp, dripping darkness.

But where would he even begin to look?

Due to his haste, it only then occurred to Link that he had no idea who or what he was looking for. He stood for a moment, sorting through his options. All he had to go off of was Paya’s vague description of the thief. A man. _So big. So cruel._ A man not afraid to strike a defenseless person. The thief was undoubtedly not a local, so Link put away the faces of the villagers from his mind. None of them could have done something like this.

No, he was looking for a stranger. Someone who didn’t belong. Someone holding the Sheikah Slate.

The thought of the Slate stirred something within Link, but he suppressed it, gritting his teeth. He had to find the thief first. Then, perhaps he could begin to understand why he was so inexplicably desperate to have it. He wasn’t so certain he was prepared for the answer, however.

But he would meet that end when it came. Wrenching his mind back to his task, Link continued to scan his surroundings, unaware that he was being watched.

Link searched, his gaze voracious, but he didn’t find anything amiss nearby — only the pattering rain and darkness soaking the grass. For a moment, he tempted the thought of going back inside the house to ask Paya for more information. Perhaps he’d ask for a coat, as well, and maybe a lantern. But just as he was about to turn, something caught his eye — a bobbing orb of light, rapidly advancing toward him, accompanied by the wet slapping of footsteps.

Link squinted at the light, his grip on Cado’s sword tightening. Could this be the thief?

To Link’s astonishment, it wasn’t. Of all the people to meet at that moment, this person was the very last he was expecting.

A gruff, familiar voice hollered into the night, “Hey! _Hey!_ Over here!”

Link’s face twisted slightly when he recognized their voice. “Dorian?!” he called back, striding forward, shielding his third eye from the rain.

The old Sheikah’s figure came into view as he made his way across the grass, a lantern aloft in his fist. He had his broken arm tucked close to his chest, the coat draped over his shoulders protecting it from the elements. His curved wicker hat sat atop his head, his sideburns drooping and dripping. Link found with a start that Dorian wasn’t barreling toward him, sword drawn and screaming. No, he looked tired, anxious even, his eyes sunken. Something was wrong.

Dorian came to a stop before Link, his lips taut. Link’s heart stuttered at his sudden entrance, and he stood stiffly, half-anticipating an attack. Fortunately for the both of them, none came — from Dorian or otherwise. Even so, Link still itched in the old man’s presence. He hadn’t forgotten their encounter that afternoon.

Before either of them could speak, Link found himself stiffening beneath Dorian’s gaze. As if in a daze, Dorian drank in the magenta glow of Link’s rib cage and clavicle beaming between the tatters of his shirt. His skeleton radiated in the dark with a rather brilliant, if not corrupted, light; it reflected in the old man’s eyes, almost hypnotizing him. He had never seen anything so darkly bizarre in his life.

Link finally ripped him out of his stupor when he asked, “Dorian, what are you doing up this late? It’s nearly three in the morning.”

A muscle in Dorian’s jaw worked as he blinked back into lucidity. Finally, he replied, “I heard about the thief. If what they said is true, that a Yiga did this…” He trailed off, looking on toward Impa’s house. Embers of hatred smoldered in his eye. “...Then I won’t rest until that fiend is dead at my feet.”

He looked intently back to Link, continuing, “I heard someone run past my house just now — sounded like they were in a hurry. I’ve got a gut feeling that that was that filthy Yiga.” His eyes then wandered to the sword on Link’s hip, where he wondered, his voice grim, “I take it you’re going after him?”

Link gave a resolute nod. “I am.”

There came a pause before Dorian smirked. It startled Link, but he shook it off.

“Then I’m coming with you,” the Sheikah stated. “No Yiga scum sets foot in my village without answering to my blade.”

Another pause followed as Link shifted his feet. He suddenly found himself at war with his thoughts. On one hand, he had grown suspicious — Dorian’s current demeanor was a complete tonal shift from the hostile man he had argued with earlier that day. What had caused this change of heart? The threat to the village, perhaps? Link wasn’t sure. And though Link admired Dorian’s resolve in the face of his injuries, he hesitated to accept his proposal. He didn’t want to bring more harm to the old man than he had already dealt himself — the last thing he needed was another broken limb. Hylia forbid he was killed.

Link wasn’t sure what to think. With his mind a maelstrom, he chose his next words carefully, hand-picking them before Dorian inevitably tore them to shreds.

“Listen… Dorian… I appreciate your offer,” Link began timidly. “But... what about your arm? I wouldn’t want you getting hurt — er… _worse.”_

Link quickly regretted expressing his concern. Dorian’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring — he looked about to burst with rage, but he somehow contained himself.

Taking a deep breath, Dorian glowered at Link for a few moments before growling, “Don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do. Not here.” His brows knit together. “This is personal. I’m sure you understand _that,_ don’t you?”

Link swallowed a rock that had lodged in his throat. He shrugged a shoulder. “Y-yes. I suppose I can.” He collected himself, nodding — either to himself, or to Dorian, he wasn’t sure. No matter what he said, it seemed Dorian wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“All right, then,” Link finally complied. “We’ll find him together. Do you have a weapon?”

Dorian replied, his gaze unflinching, “I am armed. Don’t you worry about that.”

Link, beginning to sweat for some reason, gave a nervous smile. He believed Dorian, even though he couldn’t see whatever he was carrying. He just hoped it would be enough to stand against the thief, whoever — or whatever — they turned out to be.

“Good. Great. Erm…” Link trailed off, his mind wandering. As he looked over Dorian’s shoulder toward the shadow-logged path through the village, Link failed to notice the old man’s smirk gaining a darker edge.

No, Link’s mind was too preoccupied with his next moves — with Dorian at his side, he had to rethink things. Now, he had a light to guide him, as well as a local eye. Perhaps Dorian’s company would prove fruitful?

Link sighed through his nose, preparing himself. He turned his eyes back to Dorian. Though it was a long-shot, he asked, “You didn’t happen to _see_ the thief, did you?”

Dorian’s smirk vanished just as Link returned his attention to him. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, no, but I heard his steps. Heavy steps, not like anyone’s around here. Sounded like they were headed up the trail out of the village.” He gestured his lantern behind him. “Come, we should be able to catch him before he flees.”

For a brief moment, as he stared at the old Sheikah, Link’s gut bloomed with a sensation he couldn’t name. It was septic, and it frothed within him, twisting his insides. Something didn’t feel right. Chalking it up to nerves, he brushed the feeling aside.

“Right,” he replied, striding past Dorian. “Let’s go.”

Dorian followed him without a word.

The pair set off into the night, walking near enough to each other to paint their feet in the light of Dorian’s lantern, all the while maintaining an arm’s-length between them. They crossed the large courtyard and began to ascend the trail before taking a left at a split in the path. Apart from their wet footsteps, they traveled in total silence, both of their stomachs churning with anticipation at what was to come.

As they trekked up a steep, sloping switchback overlooking the village, Link’s mind swirled with the machinations of his imagination. He began to envision what he believed the thief to look like, based on Paya’s description. He was tall, foreboding. Cruel. Only he didn’t have a face — Link couldn’t piece together one that would suit someone so vicious. Part of him cowered at the image, but another part, much more courageous than the other, vowed to stand up to him and deal the terror and pain he had stricken into Paya back tenfold. He felt it was his duty to the village to do so.

After all, if he hadn’t have entered Kakariko, he wouldn’t have brought the Slate with him — the Slate that had sparked the chain of events that had led him to that moment.

Even with the courage flowing in his veins, Link still grew more and more anxious to meet his adversary with each step. At that point, as his curiosity overcame him, he risked a question to his companion.

“Dorian,” Link began quietly. “Thanks again for coming along. I’m grateful. But I’m curious… Do you have any idea what we’re up against?” Dorian’s ears perked up. “Because… I’ve been hearing about this... Yiga… but I don’t know much about it. What is it, exactly?”

For a moment, it appeared that Dorian had ignored him. But the scowl that eventually found the old man’s face curdled Link’s blood — it almost mutated the man before him, embittered by a history he didn’t know… and one he dared not ask about.

Dorian’s eyes clouded over, his knuckles straining around the lantern handle. He snarled through his teeth, “Of course you wouldn’t know what they are. Just my luck… They’re _not_ a single person, the Yiga. If they were only one, I would have sliced their head from their shoulders years ago...” He shook his head, continuing, “No, the Yiga are a _Clan_ — a collective group of murderous, conniving thieves and slanderers, all swearing allegiance to Ganon.”

A chill shuddered Link’s spine at Ganon’s name. He could only listen in uncomfortable silence as Dorian explained, “Long ago, the Yiga were founded by a group of radical separatists, claiming Ganon to be their leader. They grovel at his feet like sycophants, relishing in death and the pain of others. They take what they want and keep what they steal, regardless of who stands in their way.”

Dorian paused, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. “The Yiga are among the vilest creatures of Hyrule, second only to Ganon himself… If I had my way, they would be hunted down and killed like the dogs they are.”

He suddenly turned his head and glowered at Link. The glow from the lantern cast his wicked expression with harsh shadows that made him look inhuman for a moment, replaced by a creature of hate.

“I will not forgive this,” Dorian snapped. “This should never have happened. I’m here to make sure it never happens again.” He looked Link square in the eye. “Make no mistake about that.”

Link cringed away almost invisibly, his skin crawling. Somehow, he felt that _he_ was the intended target of Dorian’s biting words. But perhaps he was just being paranoid? Even if they were only words, Link still endeavored to steady his heart in the wake of Dorian’s exposition. He abruptly found himself thankful he had Cado’s sword on him. Now that they were well away from the village — alone — he feared for the worst if he didn’t. He held it as if it were a lifeline.

Their pace had slowed as Dorian spoke. “You, er, seem to know a lot about them,” Link mumbled, only to immediately grimace, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

Dorian stopped cold, his eyes catching fire. “ _What exactly are you implying?”_ he growled, glaring down his nose at Link, who had ground to a halt as well. “Hm?”

“N-nothing, I just — ” Link tried to say.

“Just _what?_ ” Dorian demanded, bearing down on him. “You think I’m a Yiga, do you? Well?! _Do you?!”_

Link, shrinking away, stammered, “No, no, of course not! I-I would never! You’re not like them. Not at all. You love your people. Your village. Your daughters.” He gulped down hard beneath Dorian’s volatile stare, his face burning. “Y-you would do anything to protect them. And I admire that.” He shook his head. “You’re not a Yiga, Dorian — I know that.”

The Sheikah held Link in his gaze for a suffocating, almost eternal, moment. The fire in his eyes was enough to melt Link’s resolve into a puddle of nothing.

Finally, Dorian blinked and gave a huff, snarling, “I am not a Yiga. Don’t you _ever_ mistake me for one of those devils.”

He pulled back and stared Link down just long enough to throw the poor Hylian’s heart into irregularity. Satisfied with his response, Dorian then gestured his lantern up the path, stating, “Now, I believe we have a job to do. Let’s get to it before the thief makes off with what he stole, shall we?”

Link nodded, his voice lodged in his throat. He wanted to hurl himself off the cliff for letting that slip. As he fell in stride beside Dorian, he cursed himself; he couldn’t seem to get along with the old man no matter how much he tried. It seemed that everything that came out of his mouth only threw off his rage.

They resumed their journey in stiff silence. As they climbed the final switchback above the village, the trail abruptly dissolved into the grass, giving way to a thick wall of shadowy trees crowning the crest of the mountainside. Dotted amongst the undergrowth were troops of bioluminescent mushrooms emitting faint light. Nearby, a small, reverent river burbled, speckled with raindrops — it cleaved the glade in two, joined together by a thin bridge.

Link and Dorian paused and checked their surroundings. The thief had either fled into the heart of the trees, or across the bridge and into a dead end. Link figured the former was more likely — he turned and was about to head into the thickets when Dorian stopped him.

“There. Lakna woods,” Dorian said, pointing to the thinner grove of trees beyond the river. “Across the bridge. He should be there.”

Link squinted at the sparse trees beyond, his mind hitting a wall. “But there’s hardly any cover, there,” he said, his brows furrowing. “Don’t you think he would have ran to the deep woods to escape?”

When he came around to meet Dorian’s eyes, he froze. Dorian held him again in his unflinching glare — it was almost like a vise grip around Link’s throat, holding him hostage.

The old man’s expression was stone-like when he grumbled, “No. He is in Lakna woods. I know it.”

Link couldn’t help but stare at him. The confidence in his voice was… uncanny. Part of him immediately gave in to his commands for fear of being berated, but the other part roiled with doubt.

“How can you be sure?” Link prodded. “You said you hadn’t seen him.”

Dorian hesitated only slightly, his eye twitching. He seemed to reply through his teeth when he said, “No — but I know how the Yiga operate. _You don’t._ Trust me when I say that the thief is there.”

Link couldn’t understand his reasoning. He seemed to be depending on a hunch. Carefully, he replied, “I’m sorry, but I disagree. I think we should check the deep woods first, before he gets away.”

Dorian ground his jaw and shifted his feet, growing frustrated. He thrust his lantern toward the bridge again, his voice harsher than before. “Look, do you want to catch him, or not?!”

“I do!” Link replied, raising his hands. The action only put Dorian on edge further, and his body locked up. Link followed suit. He looked the old man up and down for several moments, trying to read him. Why was he being so stubborn about this? He couldn’t comprehend it.

Link, beginning to cede to Dorian’s bizarre confidence, continued, “I want to catch him. And I will.” Pursing his lips, he then gave Lakna woods a second glance, fighting against more waves of doubt. “If you say he’s there, then... perhaps we can take a look.”

Link didn’t believe the thief had fled to those thin woods, but he supposed checking wouldn’t hurt if they were quick. And yet, something still rooted him in his place.

It was back, again. That noxious sensation eating at his stomach. Something wasn’t right. But try as he might, Link couldn’t bring his mind to name what it was, and it was beginning to drive him mad.

In the end, he chose the safer route; anything to avoid another explosive argument. Without another word, Link forced his feet forward and motioned for Dorian to follow him, making his way toward the bridge. It was a thin bridge, so Link took point.

As he proceeded across it, he fought the feeling off, again. But it lingered. It was like an unscratchable itch beneath his skin. With every step he took, the feeling inside him crescendoed from a nagging flutter to full-fledged throes of nauseating, bubbling bile. His gut screamed at him to turn back.

But why?

When they reached the other side of the bridge, Link spotted something in the trees ahead. It was blurry in the rainy darkness, but it stood out amongst the canopies: a deep red color, much larger than any possible fruit or animal that could have been there. He couldn’t say for certain, but he thought he could make out a humanesque figure seated in one of the branches.

Then Link looked harder, training all three of his eyes on it. There was no mistaking it. Someone was reclined in a tree at the far of the glade, casually swinging their leg from a bough, and they were fiddling with something in their hands. Something aglow with a crimson light.

The Sheikah Slate.

Link’s heart plummeted into his boiling stomach. The thief. It was him.

All at once, Link’s mind burst with panic and shock, his veins lighting up as he prepared himself to face him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his mind buzzing, spurring his thoughts along at breakneck speeds and swirling his insides into an anxious slurry.

Gods above, the thief really _was_ here. But how had Dorian known _precisely_ where he would be? Intuition? A lucky guess? But he had been so sure... It was almost as if… No. That couldn’t have been…?

Behind Link, Dorian had stopped as well, his eyes trained, unblinking, on the back of Link’s head. While Link’s mind was thrown into chaos, he was completely unaware that his companion was carefully setting down his lantern. Slowly, Dorian reached into his coat, removing something bright and sparking with energy, before sneaking closer to Link.

Meanwhile, Link, unable to pry his gaze from the faint figure beyond, instinctually reached for the sword on his hip. He began, “Dorian…! How did you — _!!”_

His voice was throttled when Dorian suddenly thrust something into his back. Jolts of crackling electricity pumped into his body in an unrelenting wave, his muscles convulsing without his control. His hair sprung on its end, his heart and lungs stuttering from the raw energy surging through his cells and blood vessels. He gave a guttural grunt of pain, unable to coax his spasming limbs to escape.

Dorian held his Thunderstorm Rod in Link’s back for a solid three seconds before retracting it. Without hesitation, Dorian plunged his foot into the base of Link’s spine, sending him face-first into the mud. Link was still twitching when Dorian knelt, set aside the rod, and pulled a pair of shackles from his coat. Link, helpless to fight back, could merely watch through the corner of his eye as the old Sheikah chained his wrists together at his back.

“ _D-Dorian — w-w-what are you doing?!”_ Link stuttered, fighting to gain control of his body again. “ _I d-don’t underst-stand!”_

The Sheikah tightened the shackles till they bit into Link’s skin. He sneered down his nose at Link, growling, “I’m setting things right. For me, for my village, _and_ for Hyrule. Now shut up and let me do my job.”

Horrified, Link gasped, “ _What?!”_

Dorian didn’t allow him another word. He raised his head, stood, and firmly planted his foot on Link’s head, pressing him into the mud.

“IZER!” Dorian roared to the rain. “Come out! I’m here.”

Link watched in paralyzed, slack-jawed dread as the figure in the tree turned his head. He secured the Sheikah Slate on his belt and dismounted the branch lithely, beginning to make his way over.

It was all happening faster than Link could process it. He couldn’t put together what he was seeing — what for the sparks still darting around his brain. But with Dorian’s insistence on this location, as well as the thief’s compliance, it seemed as though this meeting was… premeditated. Link wasn’t sure which facet of his situation terrified him the most: the fact that he was staring down the thief, defenseless, or that Dorian was willingly handing him over to him.

How could he do this?! It didn’t make any sense. They had gone together to take down the thief — why was Dorian selling him out? As much as he tried to sprain his brain to understand his reasoning, Link couldn’t dwell on it, his mind wrenching him back into the moment.

He gulped down a mouthful of cold fear as he beheld the Yiga thief. He strode forward with a proud, strong gait, his fists swinging at his sides. The closer he approached, the taller he seemed to grow, eclipsing the surrounding saplings. He sported an intimidating, blood-red uniform: form-fitting, it hugged the mounds of rock-solid muscle bulging from his broad shoulders down to his sculpted, powerful legs. He came equipped with spiked gauntlets, a gold pauldron, and a colossal, sheathed sword hanging from his belt beside the Sheikah Slate. The only distinguishing physical feature on him was the plume of black hair sprouting from the hood over his head, as a pale mask shielded his face from view.

Link had no time to register that the Sheikah Slate was within his reach. No, his blood physically chilled when he caught sight of the symbol painted on the thief’s mask. It was the all-too-familiar Sheikah eye, only… it was flipped. Somehow, the inverted symbol possessed an unrelenting stare of its own that pierced Link’s chest with an icy knife, making his heart unravel. He suddenly found himself struggling to breathe in the thief’s shadow.

Link nearly choked when the Yiga spoke, his mask turned toward where he lay in the mud.

“Oh, Dorian, Dorian, what did you do?” the thief chuckled, his voice smooth, deep, and deceptively pleasant. He spoke as casually as if he were being presented with a surprise gift. He cocked his head and spread his hands, repeating, “What did you _do?”_

Dorian was less than impressed. He was easily a few heads shorter than the Yiga, but that didn’t keep him from standing up to him. He merely scowled when he came to a stop before them. “I don’t have time for your small talk,” he grumbled. “Let’s get this over with.”

The Yiga cast up his palms with a shrug. “Hey, no need to rush me, old man. _You’re_ the one who called me up here at this godforsaken hour.” A pang of horror stung Link’s stomach at that, his eyes widening.

Now that pleasantries were aside, the Yiga continued, gesturing to Link, “I take it this is your… _beast…_ you told me so much about?”

Dorian gave a mute nod.

Intrigued, the Yiga sunk low to the ground, where he peered at Link for a moment; Link could feel his eyes on him through the mask, drinking in every detail he could see, as Link’s face was half-submerged in mud.

Finally, the Yiga shrugged. “Doesn’t look like much to me. Why don’t you prop him up and let me have a look, old man? Just, uh, try not to hurt yourself doing it,” he added with a smirk in his voice.

Dorian scoffed and ground his teeth, but nevertheless obeyed. Seizing a handful of Link’s ponytail, he yanked him upright, presenting him, on his knees, before the Yiga. Link have a grunt in protest, but found himself immediately silenced when he came face-to-face with the thief himself.

Link’s breath caught as the two of them locked gazes. Again, the twisted stare of the thief’s mask unnerved him — he trembled beneath it as though it were hungrily sifting through his mind and body, pulling him apart. As thick droplets of rain rinsed the mud from Link’s bone mask, the Yiga drew his head back in awe, a small gasp escaping his lips. He leaned forward, his eyes running from the tips of Link’s horns, to the third eye set in his forehead, and down to his skeleton shining brilliantly through his torso.

“What’n the name of…?” the Yiga breathed, reaching for him. He slid his fingers beneath the sopping remains of Link’s shirt and tore it completely down the middle, fully exposing his body. Link flinched back against the thief’s touch as he ran his fingers down his chest, tracing along his ribcage with fascination.

Link, finding his breath again, spat at him through clenched teeth, “ _Don’t touch me.”_

His words caught the Yiga by surprise, making him jump back a little as if broken out of a trance. He glanced up to Dorian briefly, snorting, “...So it talks. Well, color me impressed.” He turned his gaze back to Link, asking politely, “Tell me, what’s your name, _beast?”_

Link responded with a snarl. “Link.”

The thief choked. _“Link?”_ he repeated, scouring him from head to toe. The Yiga leaned back, shaking his head, his eyes wide behind his mask. “No – no you can’t be him. Not with _that_ face.”

Link could only scowl at him, endeavoring to control his heated breaths. He wasn’t about to be demonized by the likes of this thief. His eyes smoldering with hatred, Link spat, “I don’t care if you believe me or not. You tell me who you think you are.”

Breaking his stupefaction, the thief rested his elbows on his knees, watching Link for a moment. Eventually, he introduced himself. “I am Izer, elite Blademaster of the Yiga Clan.” He cocked his head, a smile hinting his tone as he continued, “And I can’t tell you how honored I am to meet you, Link. I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life, if you can believe it.”

“I don’t,” Link hissed.

Izer took Link’s anger in-stride, replying coolly, “Good, because I’m not gonna bore you with my life’s story, anyway. No, I’m here for _you.”_ He aimed a thumb to Dorian. “Dorian here’s told me all about you. How you claim to be the hero I’ve been waiting for. How you barged into Kakariko, terrorized the little villagers, and snapped his arm like a twig.”

Izer made grand, sweeping gestures with his hands as he spoke, painting Link’s mind with his own actions over the last few days. It was like he was playing around inside Link’s head — and Link hated every second of it.

With a chuckle, Izer went on, “At first, I thought he’d finally gone senile — I mean, look at him — but… now that I get a look at you… ooh, I can see it. I bet you scared their little sandals off. Man, I wish I coulda seen that.” He then reached for something on his belt. “But what I can’t grasp is that you did all that… for this?”

He brought the Sheikah Slate forward.

Link couldn’t hold back the desperate lurching deep inside him, then — he groaned and surged forward as if something were tugging at him from within. In spite of his reaction, Dorian’s hand remained steady, straining against his ponytail and holding him back. In that same moment, the Slate flashed with crimson light and chirped, startling Izer to the point that he nearly dropped it.

Pausing, he turned it over in his hand, musing, “Huh. Would you look at that?” He looked to Link, almost waving it in his face. “The old man wasn’t lying — you really, really want this, don’t you?”

Another swell of violent desire pushed Link forward. He grimaced against the fire in his lungs, his thoughts clouding over. “Give it back. Please.”

But Izer didn’t. Instead, he rose to his feet, beginning to stroll around Link and Dorian like a wolf, his thoughts connecting. “Interesting…” he murmured, admiring the Slate.

“Y’know,” Izer contemplated aloud. “In the short time I’ve had with this thing, I’ve realized something. There’s something inside this device… Something _obsessed_ with you.” He knelt at Link’s side, brandishing the Slate by his jaw. As he spoke, the Slate continued to give off spurts of light. “Even now, it clamors for you, desperate and wild. It needs you to survive. Needs your life, your breath, your blood. Without you, it will die. After seeing you, I can understand why…”

He ignored Link’s squirming, holding the Slate before his face. Link had no choice but to turn his eyes on its screen, taking in the jumble of glyphs that were repeating endlessly across its surface in a frantic cry for help — a cry that echoed throughout Link’s every cell in feverish unison.

“See those symbols, Link?” Izer cooed. Link’s spine rattled at the way he said his name. “They’re ancient Sheikah writing. Can you read them? What do they say?”

For some bizarre reason, Link understood them. He had never seen them, yet he understood them. He didn’t like what was looking back at him. All the same, he refused to humor Izer — he was enjoying seeing him writhe, and Link wouldn’t give him the pleasure of a response. Link firmed his mouth into a frown, wresting his gaze away.

Izer suddenly grabbed Link by the scruff of his neck and shoved him forward, threatening, “ _Tell me what it says._ I seem to have forgotten my ancient Sheikah.”

Link, staring into the Slate, read back the single word repeating on the screen.

“Master.”

It fell quiet for a moment. Thunder rumbled overhead. Even the Sheikah Slate had ceased screeching, perhaps cognizant of Link’s presence.

Izer eventually spoke up, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Master, indeed. And it’s written all over you, from those little horns…” he drifted off, tapping a fingertip on one of Link’s horns. He then unsheathed Cado’s sword from Link’s hip and drew its blade across his abdomen in a split-second motion, making him flinch. Link gasped against the thin line of his glowing magenta blood oozing out of his skin.

Izer cast the sword aside, lapping up the sight of Link’s blood, his voice low and hungry. “...all the way down to the Malice coursing through those veins. By goddess, if that ain’t beautiful, I don’t know what is.” He placed the Sheikah Slate back onto his belt, murmuring, “Ooh, I cannot _wait_ to take you back to base.”

Link’s face twisted into a caustic glare. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he spat, his jaw clenched. “You hurt Paya.”

His remark gave Izer pause. He slowly leaned toward Link, purring, “Only a little.”

Izer didn’t even flinch when Link jerked forward, his breath rushing in and out of his bared teeth – Dorian held him back by the hair, again, reining him in.

“ _You’ll pay for that!”_ Link snarled, his veins alight. “ _I swear it!”_

Ignoring his outburst, Izer gave Link one last look-over and took to his feet, diverting his attention back to Dorian, who had flushed paler.

“I’ll take him,” Izer announced, much to the boiling of Link’s blood.

Dorian’s eyes tightened. “You remember our deal. The beast for the Slate. Now hand it over.”

Izer fell statue-still, the stare of his inverted Sheikah eye delving into Dorian. Despite the Yiga’s intimidating presence, Dorian held his ground.

...Until Izer spoke again.

“How old are your girls, now, old man? Getting big, I bet,” he mused.

Both Dorian and Link’s brows furrowed at his strange response, the Sheikah taking a step back. Without missing a beat, Izer continued, “It sure would be a shame if today was the last time they saw their daddy… after he dumped them on his neighbors so he could conspire with a Yiga, no less.”

Link, his breath suddenly shallow, turned his eyes up to Dorian. He looked about to be sick, his face as white as his beard.

“I don’t think you heard me, before,” Izer went on, creeping towards them. “I said I’ll take him.” Crossing his arms, he stuck his mask into Dorian’s nose. “Deal’s off, old man. Your usefulness has come to an end, as must you. Give my love to your wife, won’t you?”

As much as he despised him, Link had to give Izer his dues. The man, as tall, bulky, and imposing as he was, moved like a bolt of lightning. Before Dorian had time to even consider reacting, Izer thrust his palms into his sling with an audible _crunch,_ shoving Dorian over with enough force to split his fractured arm again.

Dorian hit the ground in a howling heap, clutching his sling. Link, barely braced for what was ensuing, froze in Izer’s shadow as he loomed above him. Almost as if in slow motion, he watched Izer sidestep around him, unsheathe his enormous sword, and lunge toward Dorian, his blade aimed at his forehead.

Something overcame Link, then, bursting within his gut. It kick-started his muscles with an exhilarating rush. He sprung to his feet, tucked his knees to his chest, and brought his shackled hands from behind his back, under his feet, and around to his front in an almost effortless, fluid movement. Just as Izer’s sword arced down to meet Dorian, Link stepped between them and shoved his hands skyward, the chain of his shackles catching Izer’s blade.

The clang of metal on metal rang in their ears, destroying the silence and stiffening their spines. Three sets of eyes flew to the sword against Link’s shackles. Izer himself, stood, stunned, while Dorian lay on the ground in similar condition, eyes wide and breathless. For a nearly-eternal second, nobody moved.

Regaining control of himself, Link took advantage of Izer’s stupefaction and sunk his heel into his stomach. Though the Yiga was solid as a wall, Link still sent him stumbling.

Following a quick glimpse at Cado’s sword in the grass, Link clenched his fists and forcibly tore his wrists away from the other with a powerful shout. His muscles bulged and strained, sending bits of metal spraying in all directions as he shattered his shackles like they were nothing. Without his bonds to hinder him, he stooped, swept up the sword, and took a stance to face Izer.

He found the thief had taken a similar stance: knees sturdily apart, sword drawn. They watched each other for a brief moment before Izer tilted his head and whistled, bemused.

“Well, well, well!” he said. “That was impressive, I’ll give you that. What else have you got?”

Link tightened his grip on Cado’s sword. “Enough to send you back to whatever hole you crawled out of,” he replied, glaring him down.

Izer shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Oh, don’t start playing hero with me, kid. You’re not seriously gonna stand up for that turncoat back there, are you? What’s he ever done for you, huh? He only looks out for himself.”

Link risked a fleeting glance to Dorian behind him. The man lay, petrified, in the grass at his feet.

“Trust me, kid,” the Yiga went on. “Dorian is no stranger to betrayal. He’d do this again in a heartbeat if it meant saving his own skin. Word to the wise? Never trust a friendly face — their smiles are always crooked.”

Link’s blood curdled at Izer’s words. He _had_ trusted Dorian. Perhaps too prematurely. He found himself scowling at the old man, his insides twisting against themselves. Part of him knew that Izer had a point — Dorian had done nothing but make his life a nightmare. He assaulted him, battered him, vowed to kill him. Betrayed him. Why should he risk his life for him?

That was enough reasoning for Link to consider stepping aside and allowing Izer to finish what he started. But a small voice in Link’s head nagged at him; it felt wrong, letting Dorian face the end of Izer’s blade. Not when he had a family, a village, _children_ that needed him… Who was Link to pass on that judgement?

Izer’s voice crept back into Link’s mind, nudging at his doubts. “Don’t waste your time on him, Link. You’ve got a greater purpose. It runs through your veins.” He brandished the Sheikah Slate, again coaxing something within Link. “Come with me,” he promised, “and I’ll make sure you get this back. It needs you. _Calamity Ganon_ needs you.”

A shiver rolled through Link’s spine, his skin tingling. Izer took notice and smiled, purring, “You were hand-picked for this role, kid. Think of what an honor that is! All you gotta do is stand down and come with me, and we’ll make history. It’s that simple.”

Link’s heart thrummed in his chest as he held Dorian’s gaze. The man beneath him wasn’t the vengeful traitor he had ascended the mountain with — no, he was weak, exposed, in pain. Terrified of the monster looming above him. The longer Link stood, the more his bitter expression slackened. He suddenly felt as though he was standing before Dorian’s oldest daughter, again, driving her into mortal terror. He couldn’t be that person — that _beast._ He just couldn’t.

Link pursed his lips, swallowing. “You’re right,” he said, much to Izer’s delight. “It is simple. And nothing you say can change the role I’m meant to play.” Link whipped his head around to him, his eyes tight and a fire lighting in his stomach.

“But you’re wrong about me. I am a champion of Hyrule. The Princess’s knight,” he proclaimed. Izer stiffened. “I may have failed to protect the kingdom once, but I won’t fail again — no matter what I carry inside me.” He aimed his sword at the Slate on Izer’s belt. “I came up here to take back what you stole and make you pay. Stand down, or I’ll strike you down myself.”

Izer’s shoulders slumped. He released a disappointed sigh. “You just had to go all goody-goody, didn’t you?” Rolling his eyes, he huffed, “I really didn’t want it to come to this, kid, but you leave me no choice. You’re either coming back to base with me quietly, or I’m breaking your legs and dragging you. Take your pick.”

Link remained stalwart, sword drawn and expressionless.

Izer straightened his posture. “Fine. Have it your way, _hero.”_ He took a few careful steps forward, Link following suit. Pacing around the glade, he began, “All my life, I was spoon-fed your stories. I’ve waited a long time for this. Do not betray my expectations.”

As ready as Link thought he was to face the Yiga thief, he quickly realized that he was grossly underprepared. Izer had no sooner uttered his last words before he was barreling towards Link like a crimson storm.

Izer swung his sword with an almighty roar. Link barely managed to catch the blow with his own blade, underestimating Izer’s strength — his knees buckled, the shockwave of his swing resounding through him like an earthquake.

Izer held Link there for a split second, grinning beneath his mask. He hadn’t had an opponent like Link in a while. He would enjoy this.

Scraping his blade against Link’s, he pulled back and swung again, aiming for his jugular. Link’s sword again met his opponent’s — he steadied himself that time, planting his feet on the ground. Trying to gain the upper hand, Link grunted and threw his weight into his shoulders, pushing Izer off of him, advancing. With each swing of his sword, Link pushed Izer further toward the treeline, clanging and sparking as they went.

Izer snickered between blows, “I think your hundred-year beauty nap made ya soft, Link. Is that all you got?”

Link didn’t dignify him with a response, though his words still stirred his hatred. Link lunged forward, teeth bared and eyes alight, going for Izer’s neck. The Yiga moved with an agility that didn’t suit his bulky frame — he slunk out of the way, Link’s momentum causing him to teeter. Regaining his footing, he whipped around, only not quickly enough. Before Link could raise his sword to counter, the hilt of Izer’s sword bored into his temple with a wet _thud._

Link cried out, stumbling. Through slightly-blurred vision he blindly swung his sword into open air. Izer steered clear, launching his boot into Link’s side and sending him crashing into a nearby tree. The bark smashed against his ribs, the impact showering him with water droplets. Fighting against the blow, Link opened his eyes to catch the silver blur of Izer’s sword as it sped toward him. With reflexes even he couldn’t explain, Link ducked just as the sword sunk into the tree, lodging itself deep.

“Ah, crap,” Izer grunted.

The tree groaned as he attempted to free his weapon. Seeing an opportunity, Link swung his sword at Izer’s hip, only for the Yiga to catch the blade with his gauntlet.

“Not so fast — !” he jeered. Izer reared a leg and thrust his heel into Link’s knee — it bent at a sickening angle, his glowing bones visibly misaligning with a _pop._

A hoarse wail ripped out of Link’s throat. He dropped his sword, his hands flying to his knee, distracting him for a moment. Fortunately, Izer distracted himself, as well, diverting his attention to retrieving his own sword. Biting back the pain, Link rerouted his strength to his good leg and propelled himself into Izer, tackling him to the ground.

They struggled and rolled, knotted into each other. For a moment or two, Link had the upper hand, managing to land a few punches into the Yiga’s throat. Izer sputtered and choked beneath Link, but quickly caught on. He snatched Link’s fist before he could sink in another hit.

“Gotta hand it to you, kid,” Izer grinned, his voice rough. “You just don’t back down. I like that.” With a hearty grunt, he forced both of their fists into Link’s jaw. Link’s head snapped back, his ears ringing. Through the stars dancing around his vision, he had no way to anticipate Izer’s next move as he swung his center of gravity, upending them.

Izer flipped the two of them over until he was crouched above Link, where he bashed his head into the grass. Eyes rolling, Link clawed in vain at Izer’s gauntlets as he wrapped both hands around his neck. Izer applied just enough pressure to keep him gasping, but not enough to make him black out. He wasn’t finished with him, yet.

Now that he had Link where he wanted him, Izer spoke again. “The Yiga Clan could use more fighters like you, Link. _Especially_ like you,” he said, brushing his thumb against his Adam’s apple. Link’s blood burned in his veins. “You’ve put up quite a fight, but you could be _so much more._ Come back to base with me, and we’ll mold you into what you’re destined to become.” Leaning in closer, he tightened his grip. “All I need is a yes.”

“NO!” Link coughed, channeling his rage into landing a teeth-rattling kick to Izer’s groin.

Izer howled in his face, his hold on him loosening in an instant. Link scrambled away as quickly as he could with his bad knee, a grin of crude satisfaction warping his lips. With Izer thoroughly preoccupied — he proceeded to fill the air with a string of expletives — Link sought out Cado’s sword, lying somewhere in the grass.

He hobbled back to where he remembered dropping it — the tree with Izer’s sword sticking out of it. Link’s knee shrieked with even the slightest amount of weight he dared put on it as he made his way over, his face strained. Thankfully, the sword glittered up at him before he collapsed. Doubling over, he scooped it up and slumped against the tree trunk, ready to go another round.

That was when he noticed something. It had gone quiet. Too quiet. He could hear the rain, again, tapping against the leaves.

 _Wait,_ Link panicked, his eyes flying to and fro. Then he noticed something else — something was missing. He abruptly found himself in an empty glade.

_Izer was gone._

Link’s heart, up until then hammering incessantly, skipped several beats. His jaw dropped. He cursed himself for turning his back on his opponent. Desperate to find him, again, he limped out a few steps into the clearing, his head rotating left and right. Where could he have gone?

Link nearly jumped out of his skin when a terrific blast pounded his ears. He whirled around in time to see Izer materialize like a ghost out of a burst of smoke, flying at him with a ferocious warcry. While Link’s back was turned, Izer had reclaimed his sword. It gleamed evilly as he swung it like a madman, over and over.

Their swords clashed with a shower of sparks. Five, six, seven times. Link scarcely caught one blow before Izer delivered the next, hacking away at his blade. With each step back Link took against Izer’s advancement, his knee wobbled and twinged with pain. It was all he could do to both hold himself up and block his attacker, praying he wouldn’t lose his footing.

Izer brought his sword down one more time, holding it there. He leaned against his blade, bearing down on Link until he started to sweat, his muscles groaning.

“That was a dirty move, kid,” Izer hissed. “I didn’t think good guys like you played dirty.” Pausing, he cocked his head, continuing, “But... you’re not a good guy, are you? Nah, you’re just playing pretend!”

He plunged his knee into Link’s gut, cutting off his attempt at a rebuttal. Link sprained his arms to shake him away, but the Yiga forced his weight upon him. Link’s knee and his sword began to creak, his knee threatening to give out. He’d be a goner if he let that happen.

In a last-ditch effort to push him off, Link swerved his shoulders, their swords grinding together. But he was losing steam — he didn’t have the strength to fully shove the Yiga away.

Izer, however, was running on rage. Undaunted, he raised and plunged his sword into Link’s once more with all his might. Link’s body held, but his sword didn’t. The harrowing sound of splintering metal met their ears. Before their eyes, Link’s sword fragmented, leaving behind a ragged stump of metal.

Izer didn’t hesitate to finish off his prey. He beat away the broken sword with the back of his hand, swinging his fist in a wicked arc into Link’s cheek. Link stumbled, dazed, his brain sloshing in his skull. He nearly bit the tip of his tongue off when Izer kneed his chin, his head whiplashing into his shoulders. For his final blow, Izer kicked Link in the ribs, sending him crashing, end over end, several feet until he rolled to a stop on his front.

A croak of pain slithered out of Link’s throat. He raised his head, his eyes pinched shut against the sickening throbbing between his temples.

Izer drank in the sight of him lying limp in the grass. “And here I thought you’d actually prove to be a challenge,” he spat. “Some hero you think you are. You can pretend all you want that you’re gonna save this godless kingdom, but you’ll _fail._ Just like you did one hundred years ago.”

Link peeled his eyes open, a scowl finding his battered face. “I won’t,” he groaned. “I won’t fail.”

“Yes you will,” Izer said. “There’s no use fighting what’s been placed inside you. You’ve seen its power, felt its rage. And no matter how much you try, and crawl, and squirm to disobey him, _you will fail.”_

As Link glared at Izer, something foul brewed inside him. It was thick and volatile, growing more and more unhinged with every syllable that came out of the Yiga’s mouth. Link’s fists knotted up. His pulse thudded in his ears. He began to drag himself to his hands and knees with a newfound strength. His body shook, the glow of his bones gradually growing more intense.

“I won’t,” Link repeated, his voice taking on something that wasn’t him.

“ _Yes, you will!”_ Izer fired back.

Whatever was brewing within Link detonated at that, flowing through him like an all-encompassing flood. It deluged his blood with adrenaline, electrifying his every cell in a spectacle of fury he had never felt before. His anger mutated inside him, manifesting itself in a twisting, tentacle-like mass of Malice-laced black sludge that burst out of his shoulder and coated his arm like a living weapon. It was exhilarating.

“ _NO, I WON’T!!”_ Link roared like a beast.

Oblivious to his injuries, Link dove forward, thrusting his Malice-arm straight at Izer. The thief only had the time to take in a split-second gasp before Link’s Malice punched clean through his abdomen, tearing through muscle, organ, and bone like an avalanche.

Link ground to a halt, dangling Izer in the air. In a blind frenzy, he began to drag Izer across the glade, bashing him into trees. The Yiga became a human battering ram, his body breaking with every branch, trunk, and bough he bulldozed through. The combined noises of wood splintering and bones shattering sent the local wildlife scattering.

By that point, Izer had fallen limp. Link, consumed by his anger, was swept out of his tunnel vision when he finally noticed Izer’s limp form impaled on the end of his Malice-arm. With a rush of horror, Link abruptly came back to himself, gazing wide-eyed at the abomination coming out of him.

“Stop — STOP! Oh, goddess, STOP!” he cried, clawing at it with his normal hand. It was thick and sinewy like muscle. It felt so wrong, and yet… so right.

Somehow, his change of heart dismantled it — it shivered and fell apart, dripping into the grass and dumping Izer with a sickening _crunch._ Link was overcome with a wave of vertigo. He collapsed, struggling to find his breath amidst his accelerated heartbeat and visceral horror at what he had just done.

Gasping, Link sat for a moment, crushed beneath the silence. Then he heard a faint sound, almost like wheezing. It crescendoed into hacking, bloody coughing that yanked his attention to its source: the now-moving figure of Izer.

Link gaped at him as he stirred where he lay. The Yiga hauled himself up on his elbows, shaking uncontrollably, his eyes behind his battered mask finding Link. Link found with shock that Izer’s countenance had completely changed — he wasn’t coughing. He was _laughing._

“ _Incredible!”_ Izer wheezed, pointing a crooked finger at Link. “You — absolutely incredible!” He began to drag himself across the ground with immense difficulty, grunting against his decimated skeleton and punctured organs. But they didn’t stop him from creeping closer to Link, who was too paralyzed to move.

Izer successfully dragged himself within arm’s-reach of Link, croaking out, “You fail as a hero, but conquer — as a beast!!” His hand shot out and grabbed hold of Link’s ankle, cackling, “ _Link, what’s inside you?! Ahahahaha!!”_

Link’s stomach twisted and he jerked his leg away, scooting back. He had only made it a foot or so before he watched a shudder rip through Izer’s body like a wave. The Yiga froze, his eerie mask fixed upon Link.

Izer’s hand suddenly flew to the hole in his abdomen. He heaved, fighting against something rising up his throat. Without provocation, he proceeded to spit up a mouthful of something hot and thick into his mask. Link, disturbed, could only watch as he coughed up more of it, only for another swell of it to overwhelm him.

Izer flopped over, reaching for his mask and breathing heavily. He lifted his mask partially, exposing his mouth as he threw up a puddle of dense, black sludge onto the grass.

Izer fought to breathe around his rising horror. “ _Link!?”_ he gurgled, turning his mask to him. “Link, what did you do to me? _Urgh…!”_

A haunting moan of torture tore out of Izer as he began to writhe against the Malice bubbling inside him. His splintered spine arched, his fingers clawing at the ground in a futile attempt to alleviate the mind-shattering pain rampaging through his ravaged body. He screamed until blood filled his lungs. Like a voracious acid, the Malice Link had infected him with devoured his organs and bones, the ensuing slurry spilling out of his gaping abdominal wound and gushing out of his mouth between his screams.

Link couldn’t help but join in with his screaming, backing away as fast as his limbs would take him. Izer, desperate for relief, crawled after him, reaching out for help.

“ _Please — please!!”_ he pled.

Link strained to pull his eyes away but couldn’t bring himself to, for some reason. He ran his gaze up and down Izer’s body, confused and horrified to see that his uniform was _deflating._ Link’s Malice consumed his body from his muscle tissue down to his very skin, reducing him to the enormous puddle of bubbling black and magenta sludge oozing across the grass. In the spans of a brief minute, Izer’s screams had faded into gurgles, his empty uniform falling flat in the last position he took: one arm outreached, begging for mercy.

And then he was gone.

Link stared, petrified, at what remained of the Yiga thief.

Then he turned over and threw up.


	11. It Takes a Village

Link retched into the grass until his stomach shriveled. His breath, acrid with horror and bile, was little more than strangled wheezing as it slithered in and out of his ragged throat, barely satiating his lungs. In the aftermath of what he had seen — and what he had just done — his body and mind were wracked with an all-encompassing guilt that soured his blood and fragmented his psyche. Splayed across the ground, he shuddered against the poison running through his veins, his skull spiking to the bursts of his frantic heartbeat.

“Oh, goddess…!” he whispered between gasps. “Oh goddess, what have I done?! What have I done?!”

He couldn’t seem to take control of his breath no matter how much he grasped for it — he was beginning to grow faint. Perched on his elbows, he averted his gaze from his own vomit, wincing against the wailing of every fiber of his body. Endeavoring to settle his flaming insides, he spat and wiped his mouth, flopping onto his back.

The cloud-choked sky seemed to frown upon him. Nevertheless, it was a respite from the devastation around and inside him; he stared blearily into the sky, tangling his fingers in his soaking hair, his mind flayed by what he had just done.

By all accounts, he was lucky to be alive. Izer hadn’t held back by any means, and neither had the explosive Malice within Link. But as Link lay there, choking on his own deeds, he didn’t count himself lucky. No, he was cursing his survival, somewhat envying the man he had just annihilated.

What had he done? The question consumed him from the inside out… just as it had to Izer. Breathing heavily between his teeth, Link clawed into his scalp, pinching his eyes shut. Try as he might to purge his mind of it all, he couldn’t escape the memory of his own carnage. Visions of Izer seared into his brain like an ever-marching onslaught — from his manic swordplay, to his body breaking against the trees, to his garbled screaming as he reached for Link, melting alive.

Each memory scalded Link’s resolve, filling every corner of his mind and body like a cesspool. It all served to remind him of the demonic power lurking beneath his skin. It slept for the moment, but his gut writhed with white-hot anxiety at the next time it would rear its hideous head. Link prayed with all his soul that that day would never come — that he would never harm anyone else with it. He wasn’t sure how he could live with himself if it ever happened again.

Izer. His first… victim. The lingering smell of his remains — smoky and viscous, like singed meat — clogged Link’s senses. Yes, Izer had been cruel, but even so, he hadn’t deserved to die. Not like that. Not at Link’s corrupted hand. It only then dawned on Link that he hadn’t even known what Izer looked like — somehow, that fact worsened it all. How could he kill a man without ever seeing his face? What kind of inhuman creature did that make him? Link was afraid he knew the answer.

“Oh my goddess…!” he repeated.

Link was so engrossed in his own horror that he had forgotten he wasn’t alone. Out of the ghastly silence, a voice rasped, pulling him out of himself.

“...You destroyed him.”

Link’s heart nearly punched through his chest. Eyes flipping open, he sat bolt upright and whipped around. His spine seized up when his gaze found Dorian, pale as death, gaping at him from behind a tree a short distance away.

“You — !” Link gasped, his face contorting. He attempted to scramble to his feet, only for his knee to quickly remind him of his condition. Lightning darted up his leg and into his hip, paralyzing him. He crumbled onto his backside and leaned back, cupping his throbbing, deformed knee.

Locking his eyes on Dorian, Link held up a quivering hand to stave him off. “Stay away from me!” he cried shakily, both as a warning, and as a desperate plea. “S-stay away!”

Dorian backed up a step, but not out of obedience; he feared whatever might burst out of Link next. He didn’t want to end up like Izer.

Dorian’s eyes wandered from the petrified creature before him to the surrounding wreckage, his jaw hanging open. It had been a spectacle, that fight. One that, for better or worse, he would never shake from his mind. He had been tempted to flee as soon as Izer and Link began exchanging blows, but found himself mystified by the two of them at arms. Unable to pry his eyes from the scene, he had taken cover and watched.

Twisted fascination held Dorian there, but it was Izer’s demise that petrified him into his place. The sight of a ruthless, unbreakable man like Izer begging for his own life numbed Dorian into a disturbed daze. What Link had done to him was, in every sickening aspect, unforgettable. _Incredible,_ even, as Izer had put it. Dorian had never seen anything like it, and he sincerely prayed he never would again.

Dorian stared for as long as he dared at Izer’s empty uniform before he gulped and looked back to Link. “I was right about you all along,” he murmured. “You really are a monster.”

Monster. _Monster._ The word was like a branding iron on Link’s brain. His hysteria reached a fever pitch at it, his blood igniting, all three of his eyes beaming with a wild light.

“ _And so what if you’re right?!”_ Link screamed, making Dorian jump. “That doesn’t change what just happened! What I just did! NOTHING can, don’t you get it?!” He waved an arm towards the Malice behind him. “Do you think I wanted this?! He didn’t… he didn’t deserve — !!”

Suddenly breathless, Link found his gaze pulled over, like a magnet, back to the puddle that was the Yiga. He slapped a hand over his mouth, a wheeze of disgust wrenching his breath away.

That was his handiwork. _He had done that._ His stomach lurched again.

A thick, stifling silence settled upon the glade as Link fought to grasp his breath. “ _...Why?”_ he finally wheezed, slowly turning back to Dorian. Link shook his head, beside himself. “Why did this have to happen? Why did you bring him here?!”

The stark terror in Link’s eyes pierced Dorian to his core; Dorian couldn’t bring himself to meet Link’s gaze, turning his eyes into his sandals. Though his gut fought it, he supposed there was no hiding it, then. Izer had said and done enough, just as he had.

Defeated, Dorian hung his head, muttering, “Because I am… a member of the Yiga Clan.”

A spontaneous hole gored Link’s stomach at the revelation. He remembered vividly Dorian’s own description of them — he had called them vile dogs, slanderers, murderers, thieves. And Izer had proved him right. But Dorian… he couldn’t be…?

Link refused to believe it. He recoiled, gawking, “ _What?_ No — no, you’re lying. Y-you wouldn’t do that. Not to Impa. Paya. Your _daughters._ You wouldn’t.” He stared Dorian down, convinced he was playing him for a crude joke. But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Beneath Link’s gaze, Dorian suddenly lost the strength in his knees. He slumped against the tree. “...It was already done.”

Link choked, gaping at him. The air around them transformed, sharpening — it sent a shiver up Link’s spine. Words refused to come to him as he stared at the old man before him. It was like a bomb had gone off in his mind. Even with Izer gone, Link suddenly feared he now had Dorian to contend with. Now that he knew his alignments, Link’s body tensed in anticipation to flee — he just prayed he could get away with his bum leg.

Link never got the chance to risk an escape. He fell speechless as Dorian added, “Or... I used to be a member… before I deserted.” His fist clenched and he wrinkled his nose. “I thought I had buried my demons. But the funny thing about demons is… they’re like dogs. They come when they are called.”

His words rattled Link’s bones. “What are you saying?” Link murmured.

A heavy moment of silence passed before Dorian could coax his tongue into speaking. It sat in his mouth, bitter and stubborn. Finally, and against his better judgement, he began to explain himself.

“The village turned on its head when you arrived,” Dorian said. “I hated it. I’m an old man, now, and… I’ve grown to hate change. In my anger, I thought that, if you were gone, things would go back to the way they were, when life made sense.” His hand found his sling. “I couldn’t run you out of Kakariko myself, and I was too impatient to see you through your stay, so… I turned to the Yiga.” He scowled. “My old Clan. I wasn’t even thinking of the consequences. I knew they would take you. I knew _he_ would take you, one way or another...”

Both of their eyes trailed over to Izer’s remains. Dorian glowered at them, grumbling, “It was never meant to be like this. I was a fool not to foresee his betrayal; he hasn’t changed after all these years.”

Link shivered, a chill creeping through his skin. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked upon the puddle, breathing, “...You _knew_ him?”

For a moment, Dorian bit back the truth. He felt he had already said too much. But, like a snake, the ghosts of his past injected their venom into him, foaming his insides with the secret he had bottled up for over a decade. He stood numbly, his eyes on his feet, searching for something he couldn’t find.

Link stared, his mind reeling, as the old Sheikah pursed his lips, releasing a sigh through his nose. He couldn’t keep in the truth — not from Link. Not after what he had done. What they _both_ had done. Before his pride could stop himself, Dorian began to open up to Link.

“Yes, I knew Izer,” Dorian said, his voice flat. He then snorted darkly. “I was several years into my pact with the Yiga when he was born. His mother was slain by a Gerudo warrior before he had even learned to walk. We all stepped in, but the boy took a particular liking to me. We became friends. He was an eager child, and a fast learner. I showed him how to swing a sword, told him the stories that had been drilled into my head — stories of a fallen hero who would one day return.” Link cowered under Dorian’s gaze when he turned it on him, continuing, “Stories of you.”

Stupefied by his words, Link’s brain sparked to imagine Izer as a child among those people. Innocent, moldable. _Corruptible._ He supposed that growing up in the Yiga Clan had made Izer the man he was, and the thought of it haunted him. But it was the notion that Dorian had a hand in doing so that made him even more sick with himself.

Link could only listen as Dorian continued solemnly, “As the boy grew, he fed on those stories; he became consumed with the idea of killing you himself for the glory of Calamity Ganon. Something changed in him almost overnight. He began to take _too much_ pleasure in his deeds, killing for the fun of it, training night and day until he lived and breathed _Yiga.”_

Dorian shuddered, his mind brewing. Shadows weighed down his eyes. “I was getting up in years, by that point; I mostly stayed at the hideout, tending to new recruits, when Izer volunteered us for a raid on Kakariko.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “The boy was only sixteen. He wanted me to experience the thrill of raiding, again. I was hesitant, but he insisted. We, along with a few others, journeyed from the hideout to terrorize the village.”

Pausing, Dorian looked beyond the treetops, his tired eyes glazed over with memories. “I hadn’t seen my hometown for over twenty years by then. I found that my parents had long since moved out or died. Without them, I had no qualms with what we were doing. We stole into the village, setting fire to crops, chasing people out of their homes, all laughing like the maniacs we were. It was… exciting, I’m ashamed to admit. But as I broke into another home, that was when I saw… her.”

He cut himself off, his shoulders sagging. Link, numbed by his history, watched in awe as Dorian hung his head and slowly sank to the ground, his back against the tree. He clung to his sling, squeezing his fracture as if punishing himself.

“My… Aiko…” Dorian breathed.

A brief silence settled between them. Another chill rolled through Link at the name. “Who was she?” he asked quietly.

“...My wife,” Dorian croaked. “The mother of my children.”

Link’s stomach dropped. He had no idea what to say. His words, and his heart, had stuck in his throat. He had honestly never thought about where Koko and Cottla’s mother was. Judging by the way Dorian said her name, he could only assume the worst.

Through blurry eyes, Dorian went on. He cracked a small smile, sniffling. “W-when I snuck in, she bashed the back of my head with a wok. I hit the floor just as Izer joined me. He thought she had knocked me out, but I just laid where I had fallen, staring at her.” His eyes glistened. “She was the single-most incredible person I had ever seen. Courageous. Beautiful. Headstrong… My Aiko.”

Dorian, lost in his reveries, was quickly reminded of what came next. His blissful expression deteriorated until a wicked glare contorted his face, and he snarled, “Izer tried to slit her throat, but I jumped between them and fought him off. I remember turning back and catching her eyes as we were driven out of the village by guards. I’ll never forget that look. She was scared. Of me. Of him. Of what we were doing.” He raised his head, frowning. “I was disgusted with myself — I suddenly realized that I had made a horrible mistake, joining the Yiga Clan. I had to get out.”

Dorian swallowed, his brow creased, as he looked upon Izer’s remains, again. “He and I fought that night. And the night after. We didn’t stop fighting until I packed up my things and deserted the Clan. I vowed to leave that life behind and start anew; I burned my uniform, buried my weapons, and made my way back home. To Aiko.

“It took me a long time to win her over. I explained myself, promised her I had cut ties, and helped repair the damage I had done to regain entry into the village.” He smiled dryly, peering at Link. “Needless to say, my chores probably went more smoothly than yours. But my efforts paid off — Impa let me back in. I only confided in Aiko, but that was enough. She saw beyond my past and agreed to marry me after I begged and begged.”

“How long did that take?” Link wondered.

Dorian’s smile widened a little. “Two years,” he replied. “And the years that followed were the happiest of my life.” He gave a light chuckle. “I had it all: a peaceful life with my wife and neighbors, the excitement of raising our daughters. The joy of being a father and husband.” He sighed blissfully. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

But his smile faded. The color drained from his face. “Except that… I did. When I turned you over to Izer. I wasn’t thinking. Not then. Not ever. Not when I joined the Clan, not when… I thought I was free of them.”

Dorian paused, staring into Izer’s mask, his eyes hardening. He saw something in it that made his veins seethe. “I should have seen him coming, but my quiet life had dulled my guard. Poor Cottla had been running a fever for a few days straight. Aiko was beside herself. I… gave her a break and watched over our daughter while she left to refill a bucket from the creek. I waited for her to return — waited too long.” He gave a shaky exhale. “It was only when Cado pounded on my door that I knew something had happened.”

Dorian swallowed the bitter ball of hatred that had formed in his throat. His shoulders shook, hot tears stinging his eyes. His gaze darkened, his voice shuddering as he growled, “He had sliced her open. It was all over the grass in a huge, awful ocean. He painted the eye of the Yiga on her stomach with her own blood.”

Link’s heart gave a cold, dead _thud_ in his chest. He cringed away, the grisly image of a broken, bloodied woman he didn’t know staining his mind and wringing his gut again.

“Dorian…” Link began, nauseous. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Dorian’s eyes had fogged over. He barely heard Link. He didn’t respond — he could only continue sharing his pain with him. “As I cradled her body,” Dorian croaked, staring into the Yiga’s mask. “I spotted him on a rooftop, looking down on us, unmasked.” He yanked his eyes from the mask and met Link’s gaze, spitting, “The bastard _smiled_ at me.”

Link’s blood shot with ice, his eyes widening. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. He merely gaped at Dorian’s past, slack-jawed, his body as numb as his mind.

It went quiet for a moment as they shared pained gazes. Dorian quickly looked away, his head sinking. “Aiko’s death filled me with _rage._ I wanted Izer dead a dozen times over. I wanted to soak Hyrule’s fields with the blood of the Yiga Clan. But he had me. He had earned his keep by killing her — risen to the rank of Blademaster. Now, he pulled the strings. He promised not to hurt my children, or anyone else in the village, if I resumed my work with them.” He shook his head, gazing into nothing. “Since then, I have… abused my position as gatekeeper to feed the Yiga information, and I... I-I tried to give them _you._ How… how dare I… betray the entire kingdom?”

Dorian’s voice withered in his throat as he sat, appalled, by the man he had become. The silence that followed crushed them into the soggy grass. As Link sifted through Dorian’s wilted posture and shattered spirit, the old man changed before him — he saw him in a new light. Link understood why things had happened the way they had between them. Why they had fought, why he couldn’t seem to make amends with him. Why he had sold him out.

Something overcame Link, then, displacing his hysteria. Pity. And it only grew with Dorian’s following words.

“I’m a coward, Link,” Dorian grumbled, hiding his face. “I’m a gutless, godless, worthless _coward._ I created a monster that I couldn’t tame. But you… you slayed it.” He raised his head, not even attempting to conceal the tears on his cheeks. “You accomplished what I couldn’t and spared me for my mistakes, and for that… I owe you my life and my gratitude.”

Dorian got to his feet and carefully padded his way over to Link, his face drooping in a wounded frown. Link remained in his place, flinching only just when Dorian knelt before him, shook off his coat, and draped it over Link’s shoulders.

The warmth of Dorian’s coat seeped through his skin. Link, moved by his gesture, offered him a faint smile. Dorian returned it, but it was tainted with shame.

The Sheikah lowered his eyes, sighing. “I realize that you may not ever trust me again — I know I wouldn’t — but trust me when I say that I am indebted to you. I…” He trailed off, the shreds of his pride holding back his words. Finally, he forced them out of his mouth. “ _I’m sorry._ For everything. This was all my doing.”

Link shook his head, his throat tightening. “No it wasn’t,” he replied. Dorian’s head snapped up, his brows raised. Link gestured to Dorian’s sling and over his shoulder to Izer’s remains. “I did my fair share.”

The memory of Link’s outburst haunted both of them simultaneously, jittering their spines. After a moment, Dorian inspected Link’s glowing bones, his brow furrowed.

“...You really can’t control whatever’s inside you, can you?”

Link swallowed his panic at the reminder of it. “No,” he muttered, averting his eyes from Dorian’s sling. “I can’t. I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it. I’m so sorry, Dorian.”

To Link’s shock, Dorian snorted, giving him a crooked smile. He clapped Link on the shoulder, chuckling, “Not as sorry as he was,” while he motioned toward Izer’s uniform.

A spurt of laughter bubbled in Link’s stomach at Dorian’s horribly dark humor. Link suddenly found himself following Dorian’s morbid chuckling, and they proceeded to laugh together for a moment. Their laughter didn’t last long, however. It died out quickly, their mouths flattening back into dull, emotionless lines.

Rain continued to patter around them, the tense atmosphere dissipating as Dorian looked Link square in the eye. He attempted to dismiss Link’s worries, saying, “Don’t worry about me, Link. I’m a stubborn old goat — always have been. My arm will heal. I can only hope that _you_ heal from this.” He searched Link’s eyes, delving deep. “It seems to me that you regret what happened here. _Do not_ regret what you did to him. Not for a second. _He deserved it.”_

Link’s throat cinched at Dorian’s words. He had no idea how to respond. Part of him, after hearing Dorian’s history with the Yiga, wholeheartedly believed that Izer had deserved his fate. Even so, another part of Link still reeled with horror at the brutal manner in which he had met it. And at his own hand, no less. His mixed morality only brought his gut to a confused boil.

In the end, he held his silence as Dorian cemented into him, “You did us all an immense service, Link. You have no idea how soundly we will all sleep knowing that Izer is dead. Impa herself will tell you that.”

Link released a shaky sigh, only then remembering the village he had set out to protect. “We do have to go and report back, don’t we…?” he mumbled. For some reason he was afraid of facing Impa. Paya, too. How could he begin to explain what had happened on the mountain? How could he show his face after that?

Fortunately, Dorian had his back. It was a refreshing sensation, if he could say the least.

“We’ll go down together,” Dorian said. “You’re going to need some help with that knee of yours, anyway. But, before we go, if I could... ask you a favor…” Dorian paused and squirmed, stowing his pride, again. He turned his gaze away from Link, proposing, “I know it’s a selfish request, but do you think you could keep what really happened a secret? I know I don’t deserve mercy — I don’t even deserve yours — but I don’t want my children to suffer anymore. The villagers neither. It won’t make up for what I’ve done, but… I-I can’t…”

Dorian trailed off, struggling to find the words he needed. But Link didn’t need to hear any more. He understood. Smiling, he carefully reached out and laid a hand on the Sheikah’s shoulder, pulling his attention back to him.

“...We both have our demons. I can’t really hide mine, but yours are safe with me,” Link promised. Dorian’s face softened. “As far as I know, we took out Izer together.”

Dorian didn’t thank him. Not verbally, at least. He laid his own hand atop Link’s, smiling, his eyes stinging again. That was all Link needed from him. Somehow, it was enough to mend the rift they had wrought between them.

Before Dorian could lose control of his emotions again, he abruptly sniffed, wiped his eyes, and got to his feet. Without a word, he turned and faced Izer’s empty uniform. During their conversation, the rain had washed away most of Link’s Malice, leaving behind a misshapen patch of black, burned grass. Izer’s uniform lay slapped across it, along with his mask and the Sheikah Slate. His sword jutted out of the ground a ways off.

Dorian spared no time in gathering what was left behind. He folded up the uniform, tucked it into his shirt, and strapped the sword to his back. Then, as carefully as if he were handling jagged glass, he picked up the Sheikah Slate and returned it to Link.

His face was rigid as he held it out to him. The device seemed to have a pulse in his hands. “I believe this is yours,” he said.

Part of Link leapt to take it back, but he restrained himself. With shaking fingers, he took it from Dorian. He could have sworn he felt a zing of lightning dart into his fingertips the moment he grasped it. They both jumped when it gave a merry trill, almost as though it were happy to reunite with him. Link held the gaze of the crimson eye on its screen for a moment. The Slate seemed to know he was looking at it — a familiar set of glyphs appeared on the screen, greeting him.

_Master._

Link struggled to swallow a mouthful of panic before he wrenched his gaze away and latched it onto his belt, pushing it out of his mind. At long last, he had it back, again. He just wasn’t sure whether that was a boon or a curse.

Ready to go, Dorian offered Link his hand. Both of them hesitated almost invisibly, worried about possibly provoking whatever slept inside Link. Ultimately, they shook it off, and Dorian helped pull Link upright. He wobbled, doing his best to balance on his good leg. He wasn’t looking forward to making his way back down to the village.

Dorian held Link steady, inspecting his knee. The tangled, displaced knot of his glowing bones hung from his thigh like dead weight, his skin bloated and tender.

Dorian bared his teeth, wincing. “That doesn’t look good… Come here, we’ll take it slow.”

Slinging his arm across Dorian’s shoulders, Link hopped on his good leg while Dorian held him by the waist, tucking him close. It would have to do. Together, they left Izer’s grave at their backs and set off for Kakariko.

The trek down was arduous. Between fighting against slipping on the slick, sloping switchbacks, to periodically pausing to give Link a chance to catch his breath, it was a miracle they made it down at all. Crossing the bridge was particularly nerve-wracking, but they managed it with a little patience. By the time they descended the final switchback and entered the village proper, Link thought his knee would explode, his hips ablaze. His face contorted while he gasped for breath, thick sheets of sweat mixing with the rain drenching him from head to toe.

Impa’s house was within walking distance, but it might as well have been miles away. Link blearily gauged the distance he’d have to walk alongside Dorian and nearly collapsed. Thankfully, Dorian held him fast, but his own strength was waning.

“We’re close, Link. Just hang in there a little while longer,” he reassured him.

“...Okay…” Link puffed.

They had just resumed their drunken, two-person gait when Impa’s front doors blasted open. A figure sprinted out from the glow of the house, bearing a lantern. They stormed down the staircase and made a break for Link and Dorian, splashing across the muddy courtyard. The pair quickly recognized Cado when he skidded to a stop before them, a lantern in one hand, a new sword in the other.

Cado’s eyes bulged out of his head when he beheld the two of them, supporting each other. Taking a fighting stance, he brandished his sword, shouting, “Get your filthy hands off him, beast, or I’ll — ”

He never got the chance to finish his threat, as Dorian cut him off. “Oh, shut up and help me with him, Cado!” he barked.

Cado took his chin back, blinking rapidly. “W-what?!” he stammered.

“You heard me!” Dorian said, beckoning him over. “The thief blew out his knee — I need help. Now get over here, will you?”

Cado, flabbergasted, nevertheless did as he was commanded. He sheathed his sword and hustled over, gingerly draping Link’s arm across his shoulders, wary of touching his skin. The two men hoisted Link up, easing the weight off of his knee. A breezy grunt of relief escaped Link as they proceeded to half-carry, half-drag him across the courtyard and up Impa’s stairs. Each step was nothing short of torture, but somehow Link bit back against the overwhelming urge to flop over and scream.

He honestly had no idea how long he had been gone. In his absence, Paya had relit the candles and barred the windows. She and Impa were seated by the altar at the back of the house, calming themselves over tea and huddled beneath blankets, when Cado, Link, and Dorian hobbled inside, startling them.

Paya shot to her feet, knocking over her tea cup. “Link!” she gasped, eyes widening as she took in the sight of him. Her cheeks flushed when her gaze met his deformed knee. “Oh my — ! A-are you all right?!”

“I’m fine,” Link lied between his teeth.

“No you’re not,” Dorian grunted.

Paya and Impa darted forward, meeting them in the heart of the room. “Put him down,” Impa ordered gently. “He needs to get off that leg.”

As they carefully lowered Link to the floor, Paya reached out and placed her hand on his chest, helping ease him down. He shivered at her touch, grimacing as his knee gave a sickening pop, rolling beneath him. Grinding his jaw, he knelt heavily on his good knee, hanging his head while Paya held him steady by the shoulders.

They gave him a moment or two to recuperate. “Thanks,” he wheezed. Finally, he raised his eyes and met Impa’s concerned gaze.

“What happened out there?” she asked, searching though his face.

Link’s gut rolled. He couldn’t bear the thought of telling her the whole, gruesome truth. He could barely stomach it himself. No, he could only give a weary nod, muttering, “I did it. It’s done.”

She leaned forward, her brows raised. “Done? The thief… he’s gone?”

Link nodded again. “Yes,” he confirmed. Pausing, he pushed down a bubbling wave of horror at the memory of it. “I killed him, Lady Impa,” he said, slowly, his voice quaking. “He will never hurt anyone else in this village — I made sure of that.”

The room seemed to grow colder at Link’s words, the memory of Izer’s presence haunting each of their minds. Before anyone could say anything further, Dorian spoke up.

“He has this to prove it, Lady Impa.”

He reached into his shirt and tossed Izer’s battered mask before her. It clattered against the floor, the sound raking at the rigid air. Everyone backed away from it as if it were cursed.

Cado choked. He hadn’t seen a mask like that in a long time. “Gods above, you actually went and did it — !” he marveled to himself.

Impa’s gaze lingered on the mask for a moment, her lips firm. She knew that symbol too well. Her eyes traveled from the mask, to the shackles on Link’s wrists, and then to his belt, where she caught sight of the Sheikah Slate. She squinted slightly, her thoughts swimming.

She returned her attention to the mask, picking it up carefully and turning it over in her hands. Hairline cracks ran along its surface, its crimson eye smeared. The leather belt that secured it to its wearer was blackened and melted as if it had been in a fire. Impa’s forehead wrinkled as she attempted to piece together what had happened.

As he watched her inspect it, Link began to sweat, positive she’d begin to probe him with questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. But when she finally spoke, her words surprised him.

“Masks like these are only worn by members of the Yiga Clan,” she explained. They all listened intently. “This one belonged to a Blademaster — one of the most elite in their ranks. They are ruthless and cunning. Long ago, many of our best Sheikah warriors fell to the might of a Blademaster.” Impa looked upon Link, a glimmer of insight in her eye. “Surely, it must have been no easy feat to slay a man such as this.”

Link’s tongue soured. In truth, it had been easy. _Too easy._ And that frightened him. He shoved away visions of Izer seeping back into his mind like poison.

Impa didn’t seem to notice Link’s sudden swell of anxiety. Her face softened as she looked upon him. “Link,” she began, making his gut flutter. She showed the mask to him. “You did all this… for us?”

She then set the mask aside, holding him firmly in her gaze. “We worked you to death yesterday, and yet, you rose and defeated a Blademaster — for us. You risked your life for a village full of people who cowered before you, abused you, treated you like a monster.” A tender smile spread across her lips, warming Link’s horror slightly. Her eyes twinkled. “After all this time… You haven’t changed one bit. Once a hero, always a hero — no matter what you look like.”

Link didn’t have time to process what she was saying. To his utter shock, Impa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. His heart almost stopped, his blood grinding to a total halt in his veins.

His world was ripped from underneath him all at once. Impa recognized him. She _remembered_ him. Not as the beast that had upturned her quiet village, but as the hero she had once known. His breath caught in his lungs. He could hardly believe what was happening.

A shiver rolled through him when she spoke into his ear.

“How can we ever repay you?”

Link was too numb to respond. Instead, he found his leaden arms raising on their own, encircling Impa’s little body and gently pulling her closer. She did the same, tightening her hold around him. As they held each other, she took the time to re-familiarize herself with his muscles, his hairline, the nape of his neck. She hadn’t held him that much a century before, but she still remembered the ebb and flow of his shoulders, the way he tightened his ponytail. It was all coming back to her.

It was him. Link. Awake at last.

Time stopped for Link as Impa held him. His mind was wiped blank. He stared emptily into the wall, his breath shallow, his body shuddering without his control. He slowly came to the heartbreaking realization that he hadn’t been held in over one hundred years. His body was starved for human contact — he squeezed her, not even feeling the silent tears leaking out of his eye sockets.

“You did very well, Link,” Impa murmured. “I couldn’t be more proud of you. You saved us all.”

He melted a little at that.

Link jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his gaze, finding Paya knelt beside him, smiling sweetly. It pained him to see the bruise smeared across her cheek, but she didn’t pay it any mind. The Yiga was gone all thanks to him. That was enough.

Paya mouthed, _Thank you._

A humble silence blanketed them all. Something even stirred Cado’s emotions as he stood there, watching the beast he had tormented crumble into nothing in the arms of his elder. Suppose he truly _was_ the hero she had told everyone about? A pang of guilt stabbed at Cado’s heart for making the Hero of Hyrule scrape out his cucco coop.

Impa patted Link’s back, pulling away after what felt like a blissful eternity. She gazed upon him with a warmth of familiarity, cupping his cheek as if he were her grandson. “Thank you, Link, on behalf of everyone in the village. I doubt we’ll be able to pay you back fully for this, but perhaps we could start by patching you up, hm? It’s the least we can do.”

“Yes, please,” Link whispered, out of breath for some reason.

She turned to her granddaughter. “Paya, be a dear and fetch some supplies and fresh clothes. We need to get him out of these rags.”

“Of course, grandmother,” Paya replied. Standing, she turned and took off up the stairs. Link stared after her, barely registering what followed.

“And as for you, Dorian,” Impa said, startling the old Sheikah. He stiffened where he stood. “Thank you for bringing Link back to us. We have much to discuss, you and I. But that can wait until morning. We have other engagements.”

Dorian suddenly looked as though he had seen a ghost. He swallowed, nodding. “Yes, Lady Impa. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Gesturing to Link, she continued, “Now, would you and Cado take a look at Link’s leg, please? Be gentle with him, now. We only just got him back.”

The pair obeyed, carefully taking Link and hauling him over to the wall, propping him up. Impa followed, supervising. Link tensed against the fire that shot through his bones as Dorian extended his leg before him. Link could barely look at his own leg — it jutted off in an unnatural direction at the swollen, displaced junction that used to be his kneecap. He had a feeling this wouldn’t go well.

Cado and Dorian knelt on his either side. Cado held back, feeling out-of-place, while Dorian leaned his nose in close to examine Link’s leg.

After a moment or two, Dorian shrugged. “Well, it isn’t as bad as it looks — it’s a clean dislocation. Should go back in easy. Thankfully, we can see what we’re working with.”

“Lucky me,” Link groaned.

Paya came downstairs just as Dorian and Cado gingerly placed their hands on Link’s semi-transparent skin. She carried several small medicine pots, a roll of cloth, and two bamboo boards atop a stack of folded clothes. When she laid eyes on what Dorian and Cado were about to do, she froze in her place, her face draining.

Cado and Dorian hesitated. Meanwhile, Impa gave her a sympathetic smile. “Oh, Paya, dear, you may want to go back upstairs for this part.”

The girl gulped, rummaging up her courage. “N-no. No, I want to help.” Striding forward, she set down her cargo and knelt beside Link. His heart rocketed into his throat when she proceeded to take his hand and hold it tight.

His face burned as he gaped at her, speechless. She held his gaze for a split second before she blushed a vibrant pink, burying her eyes into the rug. Link wasn’t the only one floored by her bravery — everyone’s gazes were zeroed in on their interlocked hands, brows raised and open-mouthed. No matter their stares, Paya refused to let go.

Dorian shook it off. He released a sigh through his nose and looked to Link, cautioning, “This is going to hurt.”

Link’s face twitched against a nervous smile threatening his mouth. “Don’t worry — I’ve got help,” he said, squeezing Paya’s hand. She gave a quiet gasp, returning the gesture with a small squeeze of her own.

Dorian pursed his lips, turning his attention to Cado. He nodded to him. “On three, Cado. One…”

Trailing off, the two men put their hands into position. Cado set both palms against one side of Link’s knee, while Dorian laid his good forearm along the other. Link’s body preemptively braced itself for what was coming, his jaw gluing shut and his spine locking.

“Two…”

Everyone sucked in a breath at the same time.

“ _Three!”_

Dorian leaned his weight into his shoulder and thrust his forearm into Link’s kneecap — Cado’s hands remained solid, kicking back. With a nauseating _crunch,_ Link’s knee snapped across his ligaments and back into its socket. A sharp bolt of pain lanced up his knee and into hips, his body jolting as if he had been struck by lightning. A scratchy howl ripped out of his throat. On reflex, he clenched down on Paya’s hand till her knuckles cracked, coaxing a whimper out of her.

Impa’s hand flew to Link’s shoulder. “Shh, shh — it’s all right, Link,” she cooed, stroking him. “It’s over.”

Link panted and grunted, pinching his eyes shut. Dorian might as well have driven a spike through his knee. Within a few moments, Link’s knee was prickling with pins and needles, throbbing with its own heartbeat. Gasping, he risked a blurry glance down — swollen as it was, it was back where it belonged. Thank the gods. He just prayed he’d be able to walk without a limp.

“It’s done,” Dorian gasped, patting Link’s shin. “It’s back in place. You’ll be all right.”

“Thanks,” Link hissed, endeavoring to settle his rampant breath.

Paya continued to hold his hand as Dorian and Impa quickly took up the supplies she had brought. Link rolled his head towards her and smiled, grateful that she had sacrificed her hand for him.

“Did I hurt you?” he wheezed.

She managed to bring her warm brown eyes about into his. Shaking her head, she returned his smile. “No. I’m fine.”

He squeezed her hand, again. Lightly this time. “Good… I’m glad.”

She squeezed him back, blushing.

As Link’s body wound down from the shock, Impa gently daubed a numbing oil onto his knee while Dorian prepared a splint. He placed the bamboo boards on either side of Link’s knee and bundled them tight with a bolt of cloth, ensuring everything remained straight. After making Link drink a sour pain reliever, Paya released Link’s hand and assisted Impa in helping him out of his sopping, ragged clothes. Cado remained on the sidelines, gathering up scraps.

Link’s old shirt had been reduced to a tattered jacket that easily came off. Casting it aside, he slipped into a sleeveless, navy blue top and coat. They couldn’t remove Link’s pants without disturbing his splint, so Dorian took a small knife and cut him out of them; wet and ancient, they just about fell off of his body. Paya managed to flush even redder when she beheld Link stripped down to only his shorts — she had to turn her head away. Impa and Dorian, amidst a series of chuckles, helped Link don a pair of loose pants, instead.

In the end, Link looked rather fitting in Sheikah garb. His clammy skin tingled with warmth against the fresh clothes. Somehow, it brought a smile to his face.

As they helped Link into his clothes, a wave of exhaustion bore down on him like a heavy blanket. It only then occurred to him how late it was and just how much he had done that day. Between doing chores and doing battle, his energy was thoroughly spent. His head lolled, his vision blurring as he fought to stay awake.

Impa smiled at him as they finished up. “...I think it’s about time for bed. For all of us. We’ve had a long night.” She met everyone’s gazes, gesturing around the room. “How about we all sleep here tonight? We’ll bring down the extra futons from upstairs, and in the morning, breakfast is on me. Yes?”

Nobody objected — it seemed Link’s exhaustion had spread. Several pairs of glazed, shadowy eyes softened, nods bouncing around the room.

“I’d like that,” Paya murmured.

“Very good,” Impa said, smiling. “Paya, I’m sorry to make you run upstairs again, but could you grab the extra futons? We’ll need five.”

The girl nodded, excusing herself.

Impa turned her head toward Dorian, continuing, “I think you ought to bring your daughters, as well, Dorian. Have Cado go with you. After today, I bet they’ll be wanting to spend the night with their father.”

Dorian swallowed a lump in his throat and agreed with a quiet nod. Before he left, he met eyes with Link, his gaze flickering to the shackles still on his wrists. Pursing his lips, Dorian approached Impa, removed something from his pocket, and handed it to her. Without a word, he took up a lantern and made his way out, Cado on his heels.

That left Link alone with Impa. They sat in silence for a time, listening to the reverent thumping of Paya walking around upstairs. Link leaned his head against the wall, his eyes stinging, begging to close. But he forced himself awake for just a bit longer. He needed to talk to Impa — alone.

“Impa?” he asked.

“Yes?”

He wet his lips. “I just… wanted to say thank you. F-for everything,” he croaked, his throat tightening for some reason. She smiled sweetly under his gaze. “For welcoming me into your home, for feeding me… for your kindness. Thank you for making me feel… human. Not like — ”

“ — a beast?” she finished.

Link’s hands balled up in his lap. “Yeah. A beast.”

“You are very welcome,” Impa replied, tracing along his bone mask with her eyes. “You’ve no doubt been through more than anyone deserves — _especially_ you. You’ve earned yourself a good, long rest.”

Link snorted. “Like I need it. I’ve been resting for a hundred years.”

“Yes, well, even so, you still need your rest.” She cocked her head, gazing on him fondly. “A man needs his rest.”

Link smiled faintly, falling quiet. He honestly could have thanked her until the sun rose, but his mind seemed to find his brief thanks sufficient, his brain beginning to shut down, again. They both fell quiet, sitting to the sound of the rain against the windows.

After a few moments, Impa broke the silence herself. She had been eyeing the bands on Link’s wrists.

“Link…” she began, reaching out and lifting the broken chains of his shackles. “Those are Sheikah-made shackles,” she pointed out. “The Yiga prefer rope. Do you have an explanation for this?”

Link blinked, his exhaustion fading. His heart began to sprint in his chest as he thought back. “I, er…” he mumbled, struggling for words.

He hadn’t realized what the shackles signified. What could he say? That Dorian had betrayed, ambushed, and bound him? That Dorian had been feeding the Yiga Clan information? No — Link couldn’t. Dorian had entrusted him with his pain and his mistakes — he couldn’t betray the trust that he had literally fought for. But what else could he tell Impa? Any lie Link attempted to put together was preposterous at best and flimsy at worst.

How could he lie to Impa? Again, he just _couldn’t._ Not to her. Not after everything she had done for him.

Link, somehow sick with loyalty, couldn’t come up with a reason that wouldn’t betray Dorian. But he couldn’t outright lie to Impa, either. He merely stammered, “Impa, I-I… I can’t — ”

She cut him off. “Say no more,” she murmured, placing her hand on his. He stared at her, his chest hollow. “I’ve been around long enough to know when I’m not being told the whole truth.”

A dagger of regret shredded Link’s heart, his brows furrowing. At that moment, the truth threatened to burst out of his mouth, but something barred it. His promise, perhaps? He choked on his words, his face as strained as his spirit.

To his surprise, Impa shrugged it off. “Perhaps it’s better if I don’t know. Knowledge is a heavy burden to bear, and whatever happened out there… perhaps it is too great for me. I can see it in your face, Link. What happened tonight — it will haunt you the rest of your days.”

Link’s spine shuddered. He gulped down a mouthful of anxiety into his roiling stomach.

“Just promise me this,” Impa continued, squeezing his hand. Her eyes glittered with hope. “That whatever happened between you and that Yiga, you will not let it consume you. Use it as fuel for your journey. Make it work _for_ you, not against you. You were always good at that — taking your trials and using them to drive your progress. It’s what got you through the worst of times, and it’s what got you here.” She grasped his hand with hers, inspiriting, “I know that time has taken your memories, but please, do not lose sight of the hero you are because of the beast you have been forced to become. _You are not that beast, Link. You. Are. Not.”_

Link’s ribs rattled with every shaky breath he took. As he stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless, he hadn’t realized he had shed a few silent tears.

Izer blasted back into his brain like a nightmare. His breaking bones, his bloody screams, his Malice-drawn doom. And who had wrought it upon him?

A beast. Link.

He shook his head. “But… I-I am — w-what I did to him… I-I am… a beast…” he stammered. “You… you didn’t see it. Didn’t _hear_ it. What I d-did.”

Impa leaned closer to him, searching through the horror in his eyes. “I don’t have to to know that it changed you. But let it be a change for the better. Know what you can do, and make it _yours._ Not Calamity Ganon’s. _Yours.”_

Link never got the chance to ask her how. At that moment, Paya returned from upstairs. They both turned to watch her carefully make her way down — they could hardly see her face due to the tall stack of folded futons and pillows she struggled with. As she dumped them onto the floor, Impa cupped Link’s cheek and placed something into his hand before she stood and shuffled off to help her granddaughter.

Blinking away his awe, Link’s eyes flicked down to see what it was.

A small key. The key to his shackles.

He closed his eyes and sighed to himself. He hadn’t revealed much to Impa — or perhaps he had? — but he had the distinct feeling she knew more than she was letting on. Grinding his jaw, he took the key and unlatched his shackles, tossing them onto a nearby table. He wished he could cast aside the memories of that night as easily as he cast aside the shackles. If only.

It didn’t take long for Impa and Paya to set out the futons around the room. Once finished, Impa began to blow out candles. When Paya brought over Link’s futon, she helped him slide under the sheets, making sure he was comfortable. She brought by a few extra pillows to tuck under his knee as extra cushioning.

He thanked her, his voice hoarse. Though a storm of confusion and dread swirled inside him, he was still exceedingly grateful for her help and hospitality. It was hard to believe that she had been terrified of him just the day before. Now, as he lay on a plush, comfortable futon, he marveled at how quickly things had changed for the better.

All the same, he couldn’t shake an underlying feeling of dread for something he couldn’t name.

By the time Cado and Dorian returned with Dorian’s daughters, all but one of the candles had been blown out. Impa waited for them on her futon, holding the last of them.

Link, bone-tired as he was, lay on his back, staring into the ceiling. His mind was full to spilling, but he couldn’t seem to pin down a single strand of thought without losing it to his mental maelstrom. He jumped and hurriedly closed his eyes when he heard Cado and Dorian enter the house. He listened, eyes shut, as Impa greeted them and helped get everyone out of their wet coats. She waited on her futon while Cado lead Koko by the hand and Dorian carried Cottla on his shoulder towards their futon. When Dorian and his girls had settled, Cado made his way to his futon. Paya had claimed her spot beside Link, with Impa on his other side.

After bidding everyone goodnight, Impa extinguished her candle, dousing them all in darkness.

Link huddled under his sheets, worried his glowing bones would wake someone. To find some semblance of peace from his chaotic thoughts, he cast out any shred of Izer that dared slither into his mind and instead focused on laying still and counting his breaths. His heartbeat kept a brisk pace, but as he counted higher, and his body began to ooze into his futon, it began to slow. By some miracle, he ended up drifting off to sleep for a few hours.

And despite the unwelcome arrival of Izer, the village slept peacefully.

But Cottla woke up in the middle of the night. The adults around her were fast asleep — her father snored softly. Sitting up, she clutched her blanket close and looked around her, remembering that she wasn’t at her house. Then she noticed the subtle magenta glow of Link’s collarbone shining through the darkness. A smile spread across her face. Kicking off her sheets, she crawled off of the futon and crept over to where Link lay.

She sat beside him, her eyes glittering with the glow of his bones. Reaching out, she lightly slapped at his shoulder, whispering, “Psst. Funny. _Funny!”_

Her little voice managed to wrench Link out of his sleep. With a gasp, he perched himself on his elbows and blinked at her. For a moment, he wasn’t sure which of Dorian’s daughters he was looking at, but it eventually came to him.

He restrained a yawn, pinching his eyes shut. “Cottla, sweetie, what are you doing up?” he whispered.

She beamed and stroked his arm as if he were a pet. “Mommy says thank you.”

It took a second for his tired brain to digest what she had said. He stared at her, a pit forming in his stomach, his heart skipping a beat. “Mommy…?” he repeated, confused.

The little girl nodded briskly. “She says thank you.” Then, without further explanation, she began to crawl into his sheets.

Link panicked a little for some reason. He held his hand up, trying to coax her away. “Oh, sweetie, you should get back to bed — with your family.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, undeterred. No matter his efforts, she settled down beside him, laying her blanket across them both. With a giggle, she wrapped her arms around his arm, snuggling him like a doll.

“Night, Funny,” she yawned.

Link’s breath stagnated in his lungs and he remained half-propped-up, stunned. He didn’t know what to make of Cottla’s words. Her mother? But… she was dead. _Horribly_ dead, from what Dorian had said. A chill darted across Link’s skin from seemingly nowhere.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not that late. He had no idea what time it was — he forced himself to forget about it and fall back asleep. He laid on his back, his brows furrowed as he stared into the shadowy ceiling for a moment before dragging his eyes shut.

As he attempted to fall asleep, he couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that someone was standing above him. But whenever he checked, he found only darkness. Perhaps he was still paranoid from Izer? Whatever-was-bothering-him seemed to be affecting his knee, as well — it had gone cold and stiff, as if someone were pressing a chunk of ice to it. It was strangely soothing.

Link, his brows furrowed, breathed to the darkness, “Goodnight… Aiko.”

In the end, his exhaustion consumed him, and he was out cold.


	12. One for the Road

To say that Link enjoyed the rest of his time in Kakariko would be an understatement. In the following weeks he spent there, he found himself settling into village life wearing an eternal smile. His tensions from his night with Izer retreated into the corners of his mind, and his bruises and pains — both mental and physical — faded with the warm summer sunshine that blessed the village. By the time he was set to leave, he almost didn’t want to go.

As the days went on, Link’s leg healed remarkably fast. Dorian had estimated nearly a month’s recovery time, but after a week, Link went from limping with support, to walking on his own at the end of a fortnight. Impa mentioned that he might have had a little help in his recovery; Link wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he counted his blessings nonetheless.

Incredible as his recovery was, his leg wasn’t completely restored — he felt the slightest hesitation in his joint when he extended his knee. Knowing this, Paya forced him to sit most nights, but he didn’t complain. It was nice to slow down a bit.

But it wasn’t all relaxation for him. Village life marched on, as did Link’s restlessness. Before he could drive himself insane cooped up in Impa’s house, he insisted on cleaning whenever she’d let him, helping with laundry, and cooking meals with Paya. He found that he had a knack for cooking, and with her help, began to keep a recipe book. She made sure to fill it with a few of her personal favorites.

Over time, the rest of the village gradually warmed up to him as well. His conquest of the Yiga had not gone unsaid — word traveled quickly, and Link became somewhat of a curiosity, watched by all and spoken to by a brave few. Some waved at him in passing. Others gave him faint smiles. Meanwhile, the painter, Pikango, extended his stay in the village due to his newfound fascination for Link. When Link wasn’t watching, Pikango would break out his sketchbook and draw him. Impa took notice and requested a few of his sketches for safekeeping.

Link’s rapport with the Sheikah had certainly improved, but the highlight of his stay with them was no doubt his friendship with Dorian’s daughter, Cottla. The girl quite literally became Link’s shadow, scampering alongside him wherever he went. Dorian didn’t mind in the slightest; day after day, he beamed at them from his post, happy to see his daughter at play, and grateful that Link had found some peace.

When the two of them weren’t playing pretend with her toys, they were splashing each other at Lantern Pond or shouting from the mountaintops, entertained by the echoes of their voices. By the light of Link’s bones, they spent their nights collecting fireflies or playing hide and seek in the dark. Link always lost that game. The more he played with her, the more he grew to respond to both his own name and “Funny”. It was a breath of fresh air to be considered fun rather than horrifying.

One of Cottla’s favorite pastimes was sitting on his shoulders and playing with his hair. They were doing just that one late afternoon when Link decided that it was time for him to move on.

After another day of play, they had settled under the shade of the sakura tree near the pumpkin patch. Listening to the churning of the nearby waterwheel, Link savored the earthy air in his lungs, holding a pile of flowers aloft in his hand for Cottla. She hummed a tune he didn’t know while she plucked up the sakura blossoms from his palm and slid them into his crimson hair.

“How do I look, Cottla?” Link asked with a grin. “Do I look pretty?”

“So pretty!” she cheered. “Prettier than Daddy!”

A snort blasted out of Link’s nose. “ _What?”_ he chuckled, envisioning Dorian with flowers in his sideburns. “You’re silly.”

“ _Hee hee hee!”_ she snickered.

Link remained still while Cottla continued to accessorize him. Looking out over the village, his eyes found a plume of smoke rising beyond the rooftops. Someone was already cooking up dinner. He tried to test the air for what it could be, but his nose only found the sweet scent of the flowers in his hair.

His mind began to wander as he sat. To think that two weeks before he had broken Dorian’s arm and gotten himself thrown into Impa’s attic. He almost couldn’t fathom how it had all lead up to that moment. His introduction to the Sheikah had certainly been rocky, but in spite of the bumps, he wouldn’t have traded it for anything — not even his experience with the Yiga.

It had changed him. All of it. He just prayed it was for the better.

A lot had happened in a fortnight. As Link continued to think back, he remembered why he had come to the village in the first place, why he had left the Great Plateau. It seemed so long ago. Almost as if jogging his brain, King Rhoam’s words returned to him, reminding him of the task he had entrusted him with.

_Finish what was started. The fate of Hyrule rests with you._

Link’s knee twitched, his smile fading. What a burden to bear. The fate of Hyrule, of all the people living in it — including those in Kakariko. Link’s stay in the village had been exactly what he needed after a turbulent introduction to the land. It had been a chance to make allies, to rest — physically, mentally, perhaps spiritually. It had been wonderful, but it had also been _two long weeks_ since Link had given his task some thought. Two long weeks of relaxation for him… and, no doubt, two long weeks of strife for Zelda in Hyrule Castle.

His jaw ground, a pang of guilt searing his stomach. Suddenly it all seemed so… careless of him. He had needed this relaxation, but he had stayed long enough. Hyrule was counting on him. _Zelda_ was counting on him. He couldn’t defeat Calamity Ganon from the comforts of the village.

It was time. He decided he’d spend one more night with the Sheikah, gather up supplies, and leave for the wild in the morning. To exactly where, he wasn’t sure, but he’d figure it out.

Link was so wrapped up in making plans that he almost didn’t hear Cottla when she spoke to him.

“Funny?”

Link blinked, coming out of himself. He turned his head slightly. “Yes, sweetie?”

Cottla slumped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Can you sleep at my house?”

He froze, his heart oozing at her request. Now that he had made his mind up to leave, her words almost wounded him. He knew she would be the most difficult to bid goodbye to, but perhaps spending his last night with her would make things a bit easier?

A tender smile found his face. “I’d love to. We need to ask your dad first, though, okay?” He patted her knee, continuing, “Do you want to ask him now?”

She perked up and bounced excitedly on his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah! Let’s find Daddy!”

“All right,” Link grinned, holding her steady and getting to his feet.

At that time of day, Dorian was normally at his post by Impa’s staircase. Link kept a casual pace as he carried Cottla with him toward the heart of the village. When the pair eventually arrived, they found Dorian missing, Cado standing guard alone.

“Hello, Cado,” Link greeted. “You haven’t seen Dorian, have you?”

Cado stared, brows crunched, at the flowers in Link’s hair for a moment. A faint smile flickered across his lips before he pointed his thumb toward the nearby general store. The store’s porch connected to an outdoor deck equipped with a cooking pot and seating area. Link peered over, recognizing the figures of Dorian and his eldest daughter Koko bending over the pot.

“He’s over there,” Cado replied. “Finished his shift early.”

Link nodded and smiled. “Thanks.” As he strode away, Cottla waved Cado goodbye.

The little girl announced their arrival before Link had even made his way over. “DADDY! KOKO! HI!”

Their heads snapped up. Dorian, a spoon in-hand, immediately grinned upon seeing the two of them, while Koko gave a small wave and returned her attention to the steaming pot. She proceeded to dump a bowl of diced pumpkin into it.

Dorian straightened as Link and Cottla came to face him. “Link! Cottla! Good to see you. Having fun, I see,” he chuckled, gesturing to Link’s accessories.

Link only managed to reply with a grin, as Cottla replied for him. “Daddy, can Funny sleep at my house?” she asked, grabbing Link’s horns like reins and kicking her feet. “Can he? _Pleeaase?”_

Dorian exchanged a glance and a shrug with Link. “Well, I don’t see why not,” he said. “How about it, Link? Perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner, and, er… a sleepover?”

Link suppressed a laugh, nodding. “I’d be honored. Thank you.”

Cottla, needless to say, was pleased to hear it. “ _Yayyy!”_ she cheered, bounding against Link’s shoulders.

“It’s settled, then,” Dorian said, aiming the spoon at him. “We’ll set a place for you. Hope you haven’t gotten sick of pumpkin soup, yet. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready?”

“Sounds good,” Link replied. As Dorian turned toward the pot, Link’s decision reared in his mind, goading him to speak up. He had to tell them sometime — preferably tonight.

“Er, Dorian?” Link added, a tad shyly, pulling the Sheikah’s attention back. Link shifted his feet, beginning, “I have something I need to discuss with you, and Impa and Paya — maybe Cado, as well.” Dorian’s head cocked to the side, his brows furrowed as Link went on, “It’s something you all should know. Perhaps we could talk about it over dinner?”

Dorian searched through Link’s face for a moment. He wasn’t sure what Link was getting at. Slowly, he said, “Very well… I’ll invite them, too. We’ll see you all at my place, then?”

“Yeah. See you then,” Link responded, his stomach fluttering for some reason.

Dorian and Koko busied themselves with dinner while Cottla steered Link off to play some more. He endeavored to keep out of his own head while they hunted for crickets, but he was anxious to tell the Sheikah his decision. Though he knew it wasn’t the case, he felt as though he were betraying their hospitality by leaving. He knew they would understand, but all the same, he hated to leave. He had grown to call the valley walls home and the people around him his friends.

Friends. What a concept for someone with a face like his.

Thankfully for his irrational thoughts, dinner didn’t take long to cook, and Impa, Paya, and Cado all agreed to Dorian’s invitation. As the sun began to set beyond the mountains, so did the seven of them at Dorian’s dinner table. It was a little cramped in the smaller house, but the warmth of everyone’s company made things intimate. They chatted and laughed over hearty bowls of Koko’s creamy pumpkin soup, the earthy Sheikah tea that Paya brewed, and a slew of freshly-baked egg tarts Cado brought along for dessert. By the time they were finished eating, Koko and Cottla’s heads were beginning to droop.

Dorian excused himself to put them to bed, setting up a screen between them and the dining area. When he returned to the table, everyone had fallen strangely quiet.

Link fidgeted on his cushion, grinding his jaw. He wasn’t sure how to begin. In the meantime, Impa’s gaze wandered, lingering on him for a moment. Her eyes tightened at his visible discomfort.

“So… either dinner was absolutely wonderful, or we have something on our minds,” she mused. “Anyone care to share?” As she said so, her eyes lingered on Link.

Nobody said anything for a moment or two. Finally, Link mustered up the courage to speak, straightening and taking a breath. He wrestled with himself for a second, looking everyone in the eye before he turned his head and gazed at the partition obscuring Dorian’s daughters.

Turning back, he finally said with a sigh, “I just wanted to thank you all for having me here. I can’t thank you enough for everything, but I think it’s time that I… I move on.”

A solemn air settled upon the table, weighing everyone down. Beside him, Paya’s shoulders sank and Dorian and Cado stiffened. Link’s skin itched at his own news — he wasn’t sure what else to say. Should he apologize? No, that didn’t feel right.

All he could really do was give a shrug. “...It’s time,” he murmured.

Thankfully, Impa always knew what to say. She offered him a soft smile. “I figured as much,” she responded quietly. “We can’t keep you here forever. Fate won’t allow it.”

“But you will stay one more night, won’t you?” Cado asked, his brows knit together. “You shouldn’t be wandering Hyrule at night. It’s dangerous out there.”

“Of course,” Link agreed. “One more night. Then I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” He looked to Impa, continuing, “I’ll need to get my bags back, if I could.”

She nodded. “Certainly. I’ll make sure they’re well-stocked for the road ahead. We have plenty of provisions for you. It’s the least we can do.”

Link’s heart warmed at her gesture. “Thank you, Impa, but you really don’t have to. You’ve already done too much for me.”

“Oh, but I want to,” Impa smiled, waving away his concerns. “ _We_ want to. Besides, everything you brought with you went bad a long time ago. You’ll need the finest Kakariko produce to get you on your way again. It’s no trouble at all. I’ll speak to Trissa about it.”

“And you can take your recipe book, too!” Paya added brightly. She quickly realized she had spoken with too much gusto, her cheeks flushing in the candlelight. “I-I mean… if you think you need it…”

Link nodded, reassuring her. “Oh, I’ll need it. I’ll definitely want to take some of your recipes on the road.” He gestured to his empty soup bowl and turned to Dorian, musing, “Koko has a gift. I’ll miss her cooking.”

Another bloom of guilt sprung in Link’s chest at Dorian’s shadowy eyes and withered frown. “I’m going to miss your girls, Dorian,” Link murmured, his voice coarse. He then turned to others, continuing, “I’m going to miss _all_ of you.”

Dorian recaptured Link’s attention when he said, “As will we. We haven’t had a visitor like you in a long time.”

Link wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but he dismissed the thought.

“Yes, you will certainly be missed,” Impa confirmed. “More than you probably realize.” Pausing for a moment, her eyes clouded over. Cocking her head, she continued, “Perhaps, before you leave, we could give you a few things to remember us by?” She clasped her hands on the table. “Consider them gifts from all of us.”

Link turned his head toward her, puzzled. What else could she have for him?

Impa went on, “I was planning on giving these to you before you left, so I figure now is as good a time as any. Unfortunately, I left them at my house.” She winked at her granddaughter, requesting, “Paya, dear, you remember where we keep that old heirloom. Could you bring it here?”

Paya’s eyes glittered. She knew exactly what Impa was talking about. The girl rose from her place, nodding. “Of course, grandmother.”

Impa stopped her before she could dart out of the house, adding, “Oh, and grab a scarf and some of Purah’s old goggles, as well. He’ll need those.”

Paya replied with another nod, taking up a lantern and disappearing out the door.

Link shrunk in on himself slightly. “Impa…” he breathed. “You’ve given me too much. I can’t accept anything else. Really.”

Unshaken by Link’s protests, Impa leaned forward, a glint in her eye. “Oh, no — you’ll want this. After all, it belonged to you — and _only_ you — one hundred years ago. You deserve to have it back.”

Link blinked, his brows perking. Cado and Dorian followed suit, exchanging glances. Link couldn’t think of anything that would warrant safeguarding for a century. But then again, he couldn’t remember much of anything from back then.

“ _Me?”_ Link gaped. “What could you have kept that long?”

Impa chuckled. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Paya must have sprinted to and from the house, for she returned quickly, out of breath. Tucking her cargo close, she stole back inside to rejoin them. Everyone cleared away the dishes from the tabletop, allowing Paya to place a stack of objects before Link.

For a moment, all he could process was the pale scarf and the pair of thick, golden goggles with electric-blue lenses atop the pile. He was already grateful for them — they would do well to hide his face. But as he looked beyond them to the garment they rested upon, his eyes widened, his brain beginning to swirl with recollection.

Link’s eyes drank in the vibrant cerulean of the piece of clothing, almost as though they were starved for it, when without warning, Link’s head rushed. He suddenly found himself whisked off to a room with white walls, lined with mirrors. He knelt before two figures dressed in rich, regal blue and gold. Though he couldn’t make out their faces, as his head was bowed, he instantly recognized their voices. A man and a young woman. They were praising him — the man with pride, the young woman with deference — offering him a token to symbolize his place within the kingdom.

“ _For your bravery in accepting this fateful task, we, the Royal Family, gift unto you this sacred garb,”_ the man proclaimed. _“I officially appoint you a Champion of Hyrule._ _And m_ _y daughter’s royal knight.”_

“ _May you serve with all the dignity and devotion of your forefathers,”_ the girl said, her voice embittered with something that didn’t suit her sweet, gentle tone. She added, to the shivering of Link’s spine, _“Link, protect our kingdom from the threat of Calamity Ganon.”_

Link seemed to drop back into his body with a thud that stole his breath. “My… old tunic…?” he gasped, reaching out with shaking fingers and picking it up.

The material didn’t feel as though it had withstood a century — it was still soft and breathable, lined with decorative Hylian embellishments and paired with an undershirt and smooth, leather gauntlets.

“A tunic fit for a Champion,” Impa said. “...Perhaps your memories aren’t all lost?”

Link wet his lips, nodding rapidly, his scalp prickling for some reason. “I-I remembered… _something._ Maybe… maybe the day I got this?” As he spoke, his ears swam with the voices of the two figures. He knew them – the knowledge of that burned inside him.

Impa smiled, her own mind taking her back. “It was a historic day. Princess Zelda made that tunic herself — it will fit no one but you.” Knowing that, Link gripped it tighter, listening with awe. Impa went on, “After the Great Calamity, she left it with me for safekeeping. Now that you’re leaving us, I thought you ought to look the part.”

Link snorted, his head sinking. His hand traveled up to his bone mask, where his fingers traced along his incisors. “As much as I can, anyway…”

A silence settled upon them for a moment. “I think that ought to be your next step, Link,” Impa mused, recapturing his gaze. “You must seek out answers to this… condition you have found yourself in. I’m afraid we can’t be much use to you in that regard, but I may know someone who can help.”

Link’s head snapped up at that. “Wait — really?!”

Impa gave a small shrug. “Perhaps. Someone at the research lab in Hateno Village might be able to examine you. The technology we left behind is still alive and well there. Maybe they can find a way to cleanse you of this and restore your former self?”

A newfound fire stoked Link’s stomach from the ashes of his reality. He straightened in his place, stating, “I’ll take that chance. I’ll head straight there tomorrow. I… I have to do _something.”_ His eyes traveled to the bones in his fingers, glowing in the candlelight. “If it got into me… then we have to be able to take it out, right?”

He swallowed, his stomach souring. He ran a hand through his hair. “ _If_ we can take it out.” The notion of that was nothing short of nauseating, but he refused to explore it.

Dorian’s hand appeared on Link’s wrist, stopping him from imagining the worst. Dorian knew the beast that slept inside him; he gave Link as confident a nod as he could give. “You can. Nothing is impossible. You’ll find a way.”

Impa went on, pulling Link out of the mire of his worries. “Then we have our heading. Hateno is a bit far from here, but your Sheikah Slate should be able to guide you. I bet they can take a look at it, as well.” Her gaze softened, somewhat soothing Link’s anxieties. “It isn’t the same device Zelda left for you. It’s… changed. But even in its current state, I still believe it is the link between today and the past. I may not know what secrets it holds, but you must not fear them, whatever they turn out to be. It needs you as much as you need it.”

Link suddenly felt the Slate’s presence where it lay, tucked under his coat. It warmed on his hip at the mention of it. Ignoring it, Link gave a silent nod toward Impa. The Slate was yet another mystery he carried with him. He just hoped that whoever lived at the research lab could figure out what he had done to it back on the Plateau to make it so… _obsessed_ with him.

Now that he had his next destination in mind, Link felt a tad more prepared to face whatever came at him. He appreciated Impa’s guidance, as well as the support of the Sheikah. He didn’t know where he’d be without them. Again, leaving them would prove difficult. But he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

By the time Impa had passed along her gifts and advice, dinner was long over and the night well into its throes. Conversation had exhausted itself; everyone seemed to realize things were about to change rather quickly, what with Link leaving. In anxious silence, they all pitched in and tidied up Dorian’s table before bidding each other goodnight and heading back to their homes.

Link set out one of Dorian’s extra futons while Dorian put away the partition near the bed. Koko and Cottla were sound asleep; Dorian carefully climbed into bed with them, waiting for Link to settle in before he blew out a candle.

“Get some rest, now, Link. You have a big day tomorrow,” Dorian murmured.

“Yeah,” Link breathed, his stomach writhing. He hugged his tunic to his chest where he lay. “Will do.”

Link didn’t sleep soundly that night, but he chalked that up to nerves. His mind raced with nonsensical smears of the past as he slipped in and out of sleep. Sometime in the night, Cottla woke up and remembered that he was sleeping over. He couldn’t help but smile when he felt her sneak into his futon and cuddle up to him. Her little presence somehow helped him drift off to a more restful sleep. Still, he found himself wide awake long before one of Cado’s cuccos cawed in the new dawn. He did his best not to wake Cottla as he crept out of his sheets and began to get ready for the day.

Shedding his Sheikah clothes was more trying than he anticipated. He had grown comfortable in them — they had become sort of a symbol of his grafting into the village. But, sentiments aside, Link removed them and donned his cerulean tunic, as well as a pair of trousers and boots. The ensemble fit him like a glove, hugging him in the proper places, yet still allowing him breathing room. He had a feeling they would serve him well.

Now that the tunic and its Champion had reunited, Link’s brain swam with a ghostly sense of nostalgia for a time he couldn’t remember. It was… rather exciting, if he was being honest. Like he was coming back together, again for the first time. Attaching the Sheikah Slate to his belt, he gave himself a motivational breath before he tiptoed his way toward the door.

But something stopped him. “...Leaving early, huh?” came a scruffy voice from behind him.

Link whirled around, finding Dorian sitting up in bed. He inspected Link from head to toe, his eyes weighed down with exhaustion and his mouth set in a weary frown. It appeared he hadn’t slept well, either.

Link paused, nodding weakly. “I don’t know how long it’ll take to get to Hateno,” he murmured.

Dorian sighed. “Well, get a move on, then. I’ll meet you out there. These two will want to say goodbye.” As Link pushed open his door, Dorian added, “Hey. That tunic suits you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

A smile found Link’s lips at that. “Thanks, Dorian.”

The sun was still asleep behind the horizon, but the pale, crisp dawn was already awake. As Link left Dorian’s house and got his last looks at the sleepy village, he made his way into the heart of Kakariko, where a few figures were already waiting for him. Impa and Paya. Considering the hour, he was amazed they had beaten him to the punch — Impa especially.

Link’s belongings lay on the grass; his packs, his shields and weapons, the paraglider, his old quiver. Paya was busy stuffing bundles of supplies into his bags when Impa caught sight of him. She raised her arm and waved him over.

When he came within earshot, Impa melted at the sight of him, crooning, “My, that brings back memories! I remember when I first saw you in that garb. The kingdom threw quite a celebration to commemorate your knighthood, but oh, you were so modest.”

Link scratched an itch on the back of his head and blushed a little. “H-how do I look? As good as back then?”

Impa beamed at him. “Even better.”

As they spoke, Paya shoved the last of Link’s provisions into his bags. Securing their straps, she rose and joined the two of them, her hands behind her back as she informed him, “Um… you’re all packed and ready to go, Link.”

Link peered over her shoulder at his bags. They bulged from the abundance of supplies Impa had gathered for him from around the village. He didn’t know exactly what she had packed for him, but he was grateful all the same.

“You sure I can carry all that?” he chuckled. “You’ve spoiled me rotten.”

Paya laughed lightly. “Well, if anyone deserves it… it’s you.”

They exchanged a sweet, brief stare before Paya brushed her hair behind her ear and tugged her gaze away.

Impa spoke up, interrupting them. “So, are you ready?”

Link nodded against the butterflies flitting around in his stomach. “As I’ll ever be, I guess. I really hate to leave, but…”

She waved away his worries. “It’s quite all right, Link. We understand. You can’t let us stop you from fulfilling your duties.” Pausing, she looked past Link up the hill, waving to someone he couldn’t see. “Looks like your goodbye party is arriving.”

Link turned his head. Walking toward them were Dorian, with Cottla slung over his shoulder, Koko at his side, and, to Link’s surprise, Cado. Link hadn’t been expecting Cado, but sure enough, he strode alongside Dorian and joined the crowd, concealing something behind his back.

Link paused, gazing upon the group of Sheikah before him. They’d all played a role in his time in the village in one way or the other. It seemed that everyone was there that needed to be. Like it or not, it was time for goodbyes. Link sighed, not sure where to even begin.

Thankfully, Impa ushered in his farewell for him. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that it’s been an absolute pleasure having you,” she announced tenderly. “We wish you only the best. Now, come here.” She didn’t hesitate to motion him to her level and gathered him into her arms, holding him for a long moment.

“Never forget who you are,” she said into his ear. “You’re still our Champion. Always will be. Should the journey make you weary, know that you are always welcome here.”

Link sighed into her coat, his heart bleeding in his chest. “Thank you… I’ll have to take you up on that, sometime.”

Impa chuckled, patting his back. “We’ll look forward to it.”

It took quite a bit of willpower to release her, but Link managed it. Next in line was Paya, who looked about ready to burst. Her eyes were wide and shimmery and her cheeks were flushed. She seemed to be choking something down.

Swallowing whatever-it-was, she bade Link a shaky, “G-good luck out there, Link. Thanks for… for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied reverently. “Thanks for believing in me.”

They both paused for an awkward moment, gazes locked. Paya didn’t give him the chance to brace himself when she suddenly threw herself at him and collected him into a suffocating hug. Shocked for only a second, Link returned the favor, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her. Either that was his own heartbeat bashing against his ribs, or Paya’s — he couldn’t tell. They held each other for a solid ten seconds before Paya realized what she was doing and gave a squeak. She abruptly let go, scooting towards her grandmother, her face a vivid scarlet.

A giggle bubbled in Link’s throat, but he suppressed it. He had to wring out his broad smile before he faced the next person waiting to say goodbye.

Cado. Link wasn’t sure what to make of this. In all his time in Kakariko, he hadn’t gotten particularly close to the man. They spoke every now and then, but nothing too familiar. All Link could do was face him with a friendly expression, unsure what to expect.

Cado seemed to be choosing his words with the utmost care; he hesitated to speak for a time, merely searching through Link’s face. Finally, he spat it out. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to you…” he muttered, pursing his lips. “But you have my respect. And my coop has never looked better, so, erm…”

Drifting off, Cado removed what he had been hiding behind his back. Link’s eyes ran along the curved silhouette of the sleek, black hunter’s bow Cado presented him with.

“Take this,” Cado said, holding it out to him. “For your travels. May your arrows always fly true.”

Link, stupefied by his gift, took it with humility. It was nothing short of a hand-carved work of lethal art, and it was the one piece of equipment he was missing. It would certainly be put to good use.

“Cado, I… thank you,” he marveled. “Thank you very much.”

Cado nodded, growing somewhat uncomfortable. “Don’t mention it.” He didn’t look particularly interested in a hug, so Link let that one slide.

Dorian stepped forward, then, anticipating his place in line. He cradled Cottla against his shoulder with his good arm, Koko clinging to his leg. He gazed upon Link with an odd blend of pride, sadness, and awe mixed upon his face.

Link didn’t hesitate to give Dorian a hug of his own, minding his sling. “Thanks for everything, Dorian,” he murmured into his shoulder. “I’m... sorry for everything, too,” he added, quieter.

“Likewise,” Dorian replied lowly. “You take care of yourself. And don’t be stupid, all right? You’re better than that. Better than me.”

They chuckled in unison, Link responding, “I won’t be. Thanks.”

Pulling back, Link’s heart immediately clenched when he was reminded of the final members of his lineup. He smiled at Koko, yet stiffened under Cottla’s heavy, sleepy gaze as Dorian lowered her to the ground.

Link knelt, already fighting back a well of tears at the sight of the two girls. He looked to Koko, murmuring, “Thank you for feeding me, Koko. Your pumpkin soup was the best I’ve ever had. You take care of your family, okay?”

She nodded quietly.

Then, with dread, Link faced Cottla.

It was quite early for her, but she could still tell that something was wrong. The sparkle in her big, rich brown eyes had faded, leaving them puffy and misty, studying his face with confusion.

“Cottla…” Link began, his voice breaking. He couldn’t seem to muster up the words. He could only choke out her name before his voice cowered back in his throat.

She cocked her head, worrying, “You’re sleepy, Funny. You should go sleep.”

A strangled snort of weak laughter escaped him. She was adorable in every way. Oh, how could he leave her?

“I-I can’t,” he stammered, shaking his head. “Funny has to go, sweetie.”

Her bottom lip shot out — it destroyed him. Thankfully for his own misery, she didn’t cry. If she did, he would have utterly fallen apart.

She blinked. “Why?”

A rattled sigh eased out of Link’s lungs. “Because lots of nice people need my help.”

The little girl didn’t cry, nor did she say another word. Instead, she sniffled and padded forward, hopping into his awaiting arms. He automatically drew her in, pressing her against his chest and cupping her head in his palm.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I can play with Mommy until you come back. Come play soon, okay?”

Her response throttled Link’s throat until he could scarcely breathe. He eventually managed to wheeze out an, “Okay,” as he let a flood of tears run out of his eye sockets.

No amount of time holding her would have been enough to tide Link through leaving her behind. But he had to let go of her eventually. Willing his entire body to release her, he knelt for a moment, composing himself while Dorian scooped Cottla back up. Link wiped his eyes and endeavored to shake it off while he shouldered his packs.

Before he officially bade everyone goodbye, he made sure to don the final pieces of his ensemble. He wrapped his new scarf around his face and secured it above his bony nose with his goggles. To complete the look, he fastened on his black hood and pulled it over his head.

Feeling slightly silly wearing a full set of headgear, he faced the Sheikah with a shrug. “Well… this is it,” he managed to muster.

Several sets of misty eyes held him for a moment. Impa’s eyes in particular swam with hope and memories as she looked upon her corrupted hero, a broad smile taking her face. Nodding, she said, “Farewell, Link. May the Goddess smile upon you.”

With her blessing — and perhaps the goddesses', if he was lucky enough — Link waved, turned, and began to make his way out of Kakariko.

Several voices called to him as he walked, wishing him health and safe travels. Though bittersweet tears stung his eyes, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he left the village at his back. His breath ballooned in his chest, his posture strong and his spirits soaring. For the first time since he woke from his slumber, Link walked with a spring in his step.

The first leg of his journey was a familiar one. He backtracked along the road that wound out into the wild, emerging from the seclusion of the mountains and onto the cliffside. Gusts of morning wind swept through his hood as he overlooked the valley at the foot of the Dueling Peaks. From that vantage point, he could make out the stable he had passed two weeks prior far down the road — the stable acted as gatekeeper to the vast expanse of plains beyond.

Link paused as he eyed the stable, wondering if he ought to ask for directions, and perhaps find himself a horse. After all, Impa hadn’t mentioned exactly how far Hateno was, nor how long it would take to travel there.

But his heart stuttered at the mere thought of interacting with others. Yes, he had a means of disguise, now, so he wouldn’t send them running for the hills, but he still wasn’t too keen on meeting strangers. It had already been bad enough when he first arrived in Kakariko. Instead of tempt fate, he decided he would walk. How far could Hateno be, anyway?

Though he knew the tools at his disposal, he hesitated only just in consulting the map on the Sheikah Slate; he was still struggling to comprehend its newfound… personality, dreading what might greet him should he interact with it.

He finally gave in to his crippling fear of social interaction. Biting his lip, he held the Slate up. He exchanged a glance with the crimson eye on its screen before he timidly requested of it, “Show me Hateno Village.”

The Slate happily obeyed, much to his unease. A single word appeared on its screen.

_Certainly._

Link, his stomach turning, jumped when the Slate gave a chirp and displayed its map of Hyrule for him, highlighting both his location, as well as his destination. Link gaped a little. Impa hadn’t been exaggerating — Hateno was situated near the edge of the continent, nestled by the sea and far from Kakariko. He judged that it would take at least the entire day, well into the night, and into the following morning to walk the distance.

A horse would have made the journey easier — not to mention a lot quicker — but Link stubbornly refused. No, he would walk to Hateno. Enjoy the scenery and such. Though he didn’t know it then, he would thank himself for his stubbornness later. Had he secured a horse, he would have bypassed a vital revelation on the road.

And so Link set off, on foot, toward Hateno. Ignoring the invitation of the stables, he veered left at a fork in the road and began to follow it due east, striding along the outskirts of the plains. The valley sighed around him with the healthy breeze that curled off of the Dueling Peaks, brushing along the waist-high grass in shimmering waves.

As he smiled amidst the morning cascading into cadence around him, he somewhat came to terms with leaving Kakariko, his guilt sweeping away with the wind. He would miss the Sheikah — he already did — but he was where he needed to be. At ease with his circumstances, Link pressed on, the fresh, dewy smell of the grass energizing his blood.

Link walked for a while. Eventually, he grew a bit hungry and stopped for a moment to rifle through his packs. He didn’t have to dig through them too deeply, for he discovered a slew of rice balls, stuffed with mushrooms and wrapped in broad green leaves, at the top of his supplies. Smiling, he took them, shouldered his packs, and ate as he walked.

Before long, the flat grassland began to warp as it proceeded along the road, coming to a head in rough hills intermingled with shallow puddles of water. A few trees stood about, as did the time-beaten remains of several brick structures as they struggled out of the grass. The sight of them saddened Link a bit; he briefly wondered what had once stood there. It was impossible to tell due to their deterioration. He had all the supplies he needed, so he didn’t bother scrounging through them like he had at the abbey.

Link soon found himself in an entirely new area after only walking for a few hours. He peeked down at his map, wondering if he was heading the right way. Sure enough, he was, and he looked to be approaching a landmark ahead. His brow crinkled when he read the landmark’s name displayed on the screen. Fort Hateno.

A fort? He hadn’t been told about a fort. Curious, his eyes snapped up, scrounging the area for any kind of structure he hadn’t been paying attention to. The more Link ran his eyes over the transforming terrain, the more he began to realize that he wasn’t the only one occupying it.

The only living one, at least. His stomach shifted when he recognized the bizarre, broken-down bodies of a small army of Guardians strewn across the rugged plain. There had to have been several dozen, at least, all blackened by the ages and smothered with moss. Some lay above ground while others appeared to be in the process of being swallowed by it. Link slowly came to the grim realization that he had walked into a mechanical graveyard.

His pace slowed as he strode between the silent, looming frames of the machines. When King Rhoam had explained the Guardians to him, he told him they moved autonomously. It made sense to Link, but he had never envisioned them with legs. After all, the Guardians he had found on the Great Plateau had lacked them entirely. But as he walked, Link came to see that the machines did indeed have legs — roughly six long, spindly appendages ending in taloned feet. For some reason, the sight of their claws made his stomach twist.

Some of the Guardians clawed to the sky as if reaching for something. As he reached the heart of the graveyard, Link discovered what it was. The majority of the Guardians there lay clustered along the face of a crumbling relic of a bygone era: a broad bulwark protecting the mouth of a canyon, crowned with sharpened logs and baring a rusted, wrought iron gate. Large as the Guardians were, they had failed to penetrate the fort. It stood almost invisibly above the overgrowth, camouflaged by the ornaments of nature.

Link paused, marveling at the might of Fort Hateno. Even at that distance, he shrank in its shadow. He wanted to get a better look at it — he eagerly pressed forward, only for his muscles to seize up when a familiar, haunting sound found his ears.

He hadn’t forgotten it. He never would. The deep, echoing chime of a machine breathing back to life. Slowly, he brought his head about to the machines surrounding him on all sides. He remained remarkably calm and motionless when he found himself under the scrutiny of three individual Guardians, each half-buried in the ground.

Just like on the Great Plateau, they didn’t fire upon him. No, they merely stared, enraptured by him. Though he hid his corrupted appearance, they nevertheless knew what ran in his veins. It was the same substance that surged along their circuits. It had called them out of their sleep. Link endeavored to calm his racing heart as he stood under their gazes, unsure of how to proceed.

He never got the chance to plan out his next move, for it was made for him. His heart dropped into his stomach when a voice severed the rigid, silent atmosphere, wrenching his attention, as well as the Guardians’, over to its source.

“HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!” someone cried.

Link had been so engrossed in the Guardians that he hadn’t seen the man stood at the top of the fort. The man had watched Link’s approach through a spyglass, and promptly burst with hysterics upon seeing the Guardians’ reaction to Link.

All at once, the Guardians forgot about their corrupted companion and aimed their reticles at the man on the fort. Link, seizing the opportunity, ducked his head and sprinted forward, screaming, “GET DOWN!”

The man gave a yipe and ducked just as one of the Guardians unleashed a streak of bright, crackling energy at the space where his head had been. The beam sailed past its mark and into the side of the valley the fort guarded, shearing off a chunk of stone beyond the wall. Link lost his footing when the ground shook — he stumbled his way through the fort’s gateway, landing on his face in the dirt.

With his back turned to the Guardians outside, he had barely a moment to register one of the others firing another beam. Before he could roll to the side, someone grabbed hold of his arm and wrenched him out of harm’s way. The beam rocketed mere inches from Link — the heat from it warmed his skin through his clothes. From the safety of the fort, both Link and his savior watched the second Guardian beam sail through the gateway and punch a distant tree over with a spectacular crash.

They panted for a moment in the aftermath. Finally, their gazes met. The man that had saved Link looked rather scholarly — his collar was perched high, much like his greying eyebrows, and his eyes darted about, hungry for knowledge, behind the lenses of his glasses. Those glasses lay skewed against his face after the Guardian fiasco, but the man quickly adjusted them, regaining his composure.

“My, that was close,” he puffed, a wild grin on his face. “I’m used to getting shot at, but in all my years of study, I have _never_ seen those Guardians react like that! Forgive my excitement, but that was incredible!”

Dusting off his pants, the man reached out his hand and offered it to Link to hoist him up. For a moment, Link froze, his fear of the Guardians transforming into fear of man. He wasn’t sure, even with his disguise, how his interactions with this stranger would go. But after what they had just been through, he supposed he’d take a leap of faith — he took the man’s hand and got to his feet, suppressing the urge to run off.

Link tucked his scarf further under his goggles. The man studied his strange coverings for a moment, proposing, “Tell me, what’s your name, my goggle-eyed friend?”

“Er… Link,” he replied, thrown off by the word _friend_ spoken by a stranger. “And you are?”

The man blinked, taking his chin back. “Wait — you don’t know who _I_ am?”

Truthfully, Link didn’t know that many people, anymore. Not outside of Kakariko, at least. He slowly shook his head, his brows low over his wide eyes. “Well… no…?”

The man couldn’t believe his ears. He scoffed, placing a hand on his chest. “ _No?_ Don’t tell me you’ve never even HEARD of me! Oh, come on — everyone around here knows me. Are you new, or something? You must be.”

Link shrugged. “You could say that,” he mused.

The man sighed, disappointment clouding his eye. “Well, that figures. I’d probably remember a getup like that, anyway.” Link’s brows furrowed at that. The main aimed a finger at Link’s goggles, continuing, “You’d better remember my name, Link, because it’s not the last time you’ll hear of it. I am Dr. Calip, researcher extraordinaire!” he proclaimed, puffing out his chest. “I’ve spent my life studying ancient history and technology. In fact, I was on the precipice of a groundbreaking discovery when you showed up. Those machines out in that field, the Guardians, they hold secrets you couldn’t begin to comprehend!”

Link glanced to the wall. “You were studying the Guardians?” he asked. “That’s impressive — they’re really dangerous.”

Calip nodded proudly. “Indeed, but I live for the thrill of knowledge. Fascinating things, those machines. I can’t tell you how many travelers they’ve sent packing. No one’s passed through this end of the fort in years.”

Without provocation, Calip leaned back and pressed his hand to his chin, inspecting Link. Link found himself shifting beneath his gaze. He had to convince himself several times that the man couldn’t see through his disguise.

“...But you, my friend, are the first person I’ve seen pass through,” Calip beamed. “By the skin of your teeth, yes, but even so — what an achievement! How in the world did you get those Guardians to just… _watch you?_ It was like they knew you.”

Link’s blood chilled. He had a faint idea of why — there was no denying the Malice that ran through both of their inner workings. But he was certain if he told Calip, he would think he was insane; he could hardly understand it himself.

Sparing himself the burden of explanation, Link shrugged it off. “I have no idea, Doctor,” he lied. “Maybe I just got lucky?”

“Well, now, I’d say luck is on our sides, today!” Dr. Calip beamed. “Now that you’re here, I’m officially making you my assistant. I need you to do that again, Link — for science!” Without further ado, Calip took Link by the shoulder and steered him away from the fort and through a grove of trees. Link, stunned by his insistence, strode aimlessly alongside him. As they walked further along, Link spotted a log cabin tucked beside a slender waterfall ahead.

“Doctor,” Link began, not wishing to get sidetracked. “I’m sure your research will change the world, but I actually have someplace I need to be…”

Calip waved away his protests. “Don’t worry, this shouldn’t take long. I need to pick up your reward before we conduct my experiment. I always pay my assistants up front, you see.”

When they arrived at the cabin, Calip made Link stay outside while he fetched something. For a moment, Link was expecting Calip to grab some money for him — something he’d certainly need, but didn’t have.

But no. When Calip returned, he shoved a _banana_ into Link’s hand as payment for his time. Link, stunned, held it limply in his upturned palm.

“Here — brain food,” Calip smiled, patting Link’s shoulder. “You look like you could use it.”

“Erm… thanks…?” Link mused. He wasn’t sure whether or not Calip had just insulted him. Either way, food was food. It wouldn’t go to waste.

“No, friend, thank YOU! Now, then, off to the research site!” Calip announced, guiding Link away from the cabin.

The pair proceeded to leave Fort Hateno behind as they trekked around a bend, following the ebb and flow of a nearby stream. As they walked, Calip filled the air with stories of his studies, about how his current research project would shatter the world of ancient science. He removed a thin notebook from his back pocket and read Link page upon page of his notes, telling him of a verse in an old text he had translated.

“This verse has the potential to unlock something incredible — I can feel it,” Calip said, gripping his stubby pencil with determination. “I haven’t been able to fully utilize it, however, as I’ve had to deal with the unfriendly reception of those Guardians. But you, Link — ho, ho, you can change that!”

Link’s brows furrowed. “What does the verse say?”

Calip had taken the words to heart by that point in his studies. Automatically, he rattled it off, “‘ _When a dark light lies in the ancient one’s eyes, pierce its leer to break the weir.’”_

For some reason, the verse sent goosebumps down Link’s neck. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared for whatever this experiment turned out to be, but Calip already had him in his reins.

Clueless as to Link’s reaction, Calip went on, “To the untrained mind, it’s little more than rhyming nonsense, but not to me. I have the location down-packed, and I know _how_ to do it, but I lack the means to execute.”

Calip then lead Link off of the beaten path of the trail and into an overgrown offshoot of the valley. The carpet of thick, waist-high grass bore a clear path through it that stretched deeper into the rocky glade. As they proceeded through, Calip’s research site came into view. It was a rather surreal spot, boxed in on three sides by the towering, impenetrable stone walls of the canyon. A ring of trees encircled an open field dappled with mushrooms. At the center of the clearing sat a lone Guardian, dark and inactive.

Calip presented his site to Link, continuing, “This is where you come in, Link. All I need you to do is capture that Guardian’s attention, and using any means you’d like, pierce its eye.”

Link, his heart beginning to flit for some reason, swallowed a lump in his throat. “What will happen when I pierce its eye?” he wondered.

For a moment, Calip fell quiet, but it didn’t last long. “I’m not positive, honestly, as the verse is a little vague on that, but whatever ‘weir’ will break, I’m sure it’ll be _something._ Hey, that’s all part of the fun of science, isn’t it?”

Link couldn’t pry his eyes from the lonely Guardian. “Yeah,” he muttered, fixed in his spot.

When Link remained in place, Calip gave him a light shove. “Well? Go on, now. I paid you up front, didn’t I?”

Unblinking, Link willed his leaden legs forward. He had grown curious, if not a bit anxious, at whatever the outcome of this venture would be, and that willed him through. Though he somewhat dreaded doing the deed, he began to consider his options of piercing the Guardian’s eye. He didn’t want to get too up close and personal with the machine, so he put a sword out of his mind. Then he remembered Cado’s bow. Perfect. Carefully, he slid it off of his back, retrieved an arrow from his quiver, and nocked it in place.

He crept as carefully as he dared across the damp bed of grass beneath his feet. The Guardian remained quiet, seemingly growing taller the closer Link advanced. As he passed through the gap between the ring of trees, his foot met a twig. Link stopped dead in his tracks, his heart nearly rending itself to shreds as the _snap_ of the twig raked at the air.

Link’s knees wobbled as the Guardian blinked to life, awoken by the sound. Its head rotated several degrees before it zeroed its gaze in on him. Just like the others, it merely stared.

 _Here goes nothing…!_ Link panicked.

As Link gazed into its eye, Calip peered around from the cover of a tree, eyes peeled and his pencil at the ready. The Guardian was too entranced by Link to notice Calip as Link raised his quivering arms, pulled back his bow string, and let an arrow fly into its iris.

The magenta light coursing through the Guardian sputtered, its segments whirling wildly. Link seemed to have overloaded it. To his surprise, it didn’t react quite as bombastically as the Guardian he had destroyed on the Great Plateau. Instead of detonating like a bomb, this Guardian merely went dark again. Puzzled, Link only had the time to bring his head around to gape at Calip when the ground began to rumble beneath them.

His eyes flitted wildly about his feet, searching for whatever was happening. He braced himself against the great trembling of the earth as it crescendoed into a molar-rattling quake that sent him, in spite of his stance, onto the ground. He leaned back, eyes wide and jaw dropped, as something began to sprout from beneath the ground — something large enough to upend the Guardian as it rose from below it.

Whatever-it-was shed sheets of dust as it climbed out of the grass, rising above the glade like a mountain. It soon left Link in its enormous shadow. Even through the unrelenting shaking, Link got a decent look at the structure. It resembled a cave, almost, with a yawning doorway and a flat, steepled top. He instantly realized it was of Sheikah design, recognizing its curling embellishments aglow with a mysterious blue light. That same blue light emanated from within it, as well, beckoning them inside.

At last, the structure ascended to ground level, and the quaking ceased. Link’s body tingled, either from the shaking or his shock, he wasn’t sure. He merely sat in his spot, dumbstruck, until Calip came shooting out from his cover, one hand tangled in his hair in disbelief.

“I can’t believe it! I don’t even know what it is, but I can’t believe it!” Calip beamed. “This is _huge!_ Come on, _we have to go inside!”_

Calip wasted no time in hauling Link to his feet. Link, both too numb and too invested to protest, went along with him as they shuffled forward and entered the strange structure.

As soon as they stepped inside, Calip coughed on the thick cloud of dust choking the air. The motes that scattered with his coughing glowed in the quiet blue light issuing from the back of the dim chamber they found themselves in. Link’s head swam with déjà vu. The familiar patterns on the walls, the smooth stone floors… he had seen them all before in the Shrine of Resurrection.

Everything… except for what lay at the back of the room. Situated on a large stone altar was an immense cell crafted from bluish-white light, and it appeared to be housing something. A blurry figure sat inside it — Link couldn’t make out what it was from a distance. He and Calip approached it in total silence, curiosity driving their feet.

“...What is this?” Link breathed, his eyes filled with the blue light.

“I don’t know,” Calip said. “Touch it.”

Link had lost all sense of heed at that point, his awe consuming him. Reaching out, he gingerly tapped his fingertips on the cell. Incredibly, it was corporeal, its surface resembling glass. That being said, it wasn’t like any glass Link had ever touched, before — it seemed to ripple like the surface of water when his fingers met it.

Something happened, then, something that Link was convinced he had imagined until Calip jumped. The cell flushed brighter before it softly burst into shafts of scattered light, dissipating into the air.

That was when the smell hit them: a thick, musty, aged odor that dried their sinuses. Their eyes fell upon the shriveled, mummified remains of a human being, seated cross-legged in the center of the altar. The mummy appeared to have once been male, as he lacked a shirt, but he wore a pair of threadbare pants that clung to his jutting hip bones. A chunky gold necklace hung from his withered neck, bangles adorning his wrists and ankles. Lengthy curtains of wispy grey hair poured from the large conical hat that crowned his head, and he wore a veil over his face, emblazoned with a symbol Link knew too well.

The Sheikah eye.

The hairs on the backs of Link and Calip’s necks sprung up when a reverent, disembodied voice drifted through the stale air. “To you who sets foot in this Shrine…” the voice breathed. “I am Maz Koshia. Welcome.”

The two of them were too engrossed in searching for the mysterious voice’s origin to notice the mummy’s fingers twitch. His fist closed.

Link and Calip turned their heads toward each other, jaws open. Calip’s eyes nearly bulged into his glasses as he whispered, “Which one of us is it talking to?”

Then something moved out of the corners of their eyes. They both jerked their heads around to find the mummy beginning to rise from his pedestal. His joints cracked, dust and dirt whispering off of him as he got to his feet. When he finally did so, he was nothing less than an ancient monument; he towered above them.

None of them moved for a suffocating second.

Then the mummy spoke in the same voice that had welcomed them. He turned to Link.

“Him,” the mummy said casually.

Calip promptly went stiff as a board, the sight of the mummy crushing the breath out of him. Without so much as a gasp, he keeled back and hit the floor with a thud, leaving Link alone with the mummy.

Despite Link’s stupefied staring, the mummy greeted him with a reverence he didn’t deserve. Calmly, the ancient man pressed his skeletal hands together and leaned forward in a polite bow.

“I’ve been waiting for you."


	13. Blindsided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I've decided to start adding little notes before and after each chapter. Just to say a few things here and there.  
> Let me say that I am so excited to get into the next leg of Link's journey as we introduce Maz Koshia. Spoiler alert: he's awesome. I've had tons of fun putting him into the story. I hope you like him as much as I do. His backstory and his wisdom are very exciting to explore.  
> That said, his appearance won't be without its ups and downs. Let's just hope Link's prepared for that.  
> Anyway, I want to personally thank each of you for your comments, your support, and your readership. I am very grateful that you stumbled upon my work. :) Enjoy!

It took Link a minute to scrape his jaw off the floor. Once he had shaken his initial shock, he realized how rude he was being — unresponsive, gawping at his host like a fish — after he had been welcomed and bowed to so hospitably. He swallowed his astonishment as best he could, composing himself. His gaze riveted to the ancient figure before him, Link found himself returning the mummy’s greeting with a slow bow of his own.

The mummy’s bow deepened in response, his sheets of fine hair falling forward. Link, still staring, somehow managed to dig his voice out of his throat.

“You’ve been waiting for _me?_ How… how long have you been waiting, exactly?”

After taking a moment to straighten, the mummy gestured his arms around the Shrine; it responded to his motions with a stunning symphony of light, painting them in radiant, shimmering rays of ethereal blue. The lenses of Link’s goggles glittered, as did his own eyes as he drank in the Shrine’s dazzling display, his mouth open. Behind his veil, the mummy gave a small smile at Link’s wonder.

“I have waited here at the behest of the Goddess for many seasons,” the mummy explained. His deep, humble voice carried through Link’s ears with the gait of a gentle breeze. It sent a shiver up his neck. “With her divine blessing, I have listened to the whispers of time and pondered the future over the last ten thousand years, awaiting the day when your feet would again walk Hyrule.”

Link’s eyelids fluttered at the mummy’s words. “ _Ten thousand years?”_ he echoed, eyes bugging behind his goggles. “You’ve been waiting for me… _for_ _ten thousand years?”_

The mummy gave a slow, knowing nod. “Quite so. But that is of no consequence,” he dismissed, seemingly reading Link’s flabbergasted thoughts. He pointed an upturned palm at him. “What matters is _you._ You’re finally here, and my patience has been rewarded.”

“I’d say it has,” Link breathed.

As Link found himself agape again, he supposed that, given the shriveled state of the mummy’s body, that his words made some sense. Still, ten thousand years was a long time. A _brain-bendingly_ long time. It only then dawned on him how astronomical it was that he was speaking to a ten-thousand-year-old man, and that he had been expecting him.

But what for?

Link didn’t get the chance to ask. With a ghostly chuckle, the mummy clasped his hands and proceeded to step, barefoot, off of the pedestal to meet him. Link couldn’t help but marvel at the way he carried himself. He moved as if submerged in water — steadily, buoyantly — as though the very air were buffeting him. With his brittle bones and muscle, that was only a necessity.

Link took a few steps back to give him some room. Even off of the pedestal, the mummy absolutely eclipsed Link in size — he only barely reached his jutting clavicle. Link had to tilt his chin up slightly to get a proper look at the towering, ancient man.

When he came to a stop before Link, the mummy continued, placing a hand on his bony chest, “Please allow me to reintroduce myself; I believe I caught you off-guard. I am Maz Koshia. I am one of many, but the last of all — a devoted disciple of the goddess Hylia. If memory serves — and it always does — you are Link, are you not?”

Link found his voice again after taking a moment to appreciate Maz Koshia’s stature. “I am,” he humbly replied.

“Ah, I knew it was so,” Maz Koshia nodded, pressing his palms together prayerfully. “I have seen you and your heroism in many a vision — it is an honor to finally meet you in person. Hylia has given me much, but an audience with you is, no doubt, her greatest blessing.”

With the utmost reverence, the monk proceeded to bow again before Link. Link’s cheeks burned and he shifted his feet, his brows knitting together. Heroism? He hardly believed he was worthy of such genuine praise for his _heroism._ He hadn’t done much to warrant such respect; he just prayed the monk was referring to his acts a century prior, rather than his recent outings.

Even after somewhat coming to terms with what had happened, Link still wasn’t proud of his conquest of Izer. True, he had saved Kakariko — but at what cost? His sanity, perhaps. He could only hope that his future endeavors would prove less horrific.

His moment of awe at meeting Maz Koshia melted away slightly at the reminder of that night. A touch of shame slumped his shoulders. “If you say so,” he breathed.

The monk straightened slowly, looking upon Link with a curious tilt of his head. “Why do you say that?” he wondered.

Link’s jaw ground as he exchanged stares with the Sheikah eye on the monk’s veil. His gaze lowered into his boots. Though he had befriended the Sheikah, he still squirmed beneath their sigil. It seemed to disdain the Malice inside him, ever-watchful of the next time he would lose control. He vowed to never, _ever_ stoop to that level of savagery again — he’d rather die than become that monstrous.

Link shook his head, trying to chase away unpleasant memories. “I’m not the person I used to be. Not even close,” he murmured, closing his fist as if to quell what lay within him. “Things are… different, now…”

The monk went quiet for a moment, somewhat confused by Link’s dour tone. Surely, he hadn’t changed all that much from one hundred years before? Consoling him nonetheless, the monk said, “I understand the toll of time. It weighs upon us all. But do not despair, hero — when you and I are through, you will be more than the person you were. Much, much more.”

Brows furrowing, Link raised his eyes. What was the monk talking about?

“ _Through?”_ Link repeated.

“Indeed,” Maz Koshia replied, gusto stealing his voice. “Such is my reason for existence — the reason you entered here… though you may not have known it.” He raised his veil toward the ceiling, speaking to the heavens beyond. “Centuries ago, I received a vision from the Goddess, wherein I was tasked to tarry in this Shrine until you returned. She knew you would need aid, and chose me as her proxy. I was to guide and train you after your sacred slumber; to prepare you for your battle with the beast in every way that I could.”

Inexplicable goosebumps darted across Link’s skin as Maz Koshia spoke. The monk’s chest puffed with pride. He lowered his gaze back to Link, raising his hands as if offering to take Link’s into them. “I have spent the last ten thousand years perfecting my trial for you. I have tested it again and again, ensuring that it would challenge you in every way. As prophesied, your glorious arrival has come at last, and I intend to fulfill my charge with every fiber of my soul.

“Should you be so bold as to accept my trial, then I will test your might and counter your courage. Once complete, I will bestow upon you my blessing, and you shall emerge with the dexterity to combat calamity.” He shook his head, continuing, “It will be no simple feat, but it will hone and shape you like no other test of skill could.”

Pausing, he gestured to Link, who hadn’t blinked since he started speaking. “So, what say you, hero? You have slept. You have risen. Now, you have come to this Shrine. Will you accept my trial, and seize your divine destiny?”

Link’s brain nearly flopped into his skull as he listened. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. The monk’s proposal was, for all intents and purposes, a godsend in the wake of his uncertainty after Izer. He had barely won that battle by fluke ferocity — and such tactics, if left unchecked, he feared would only worsen his predicament… or hurt someone he trusted. Hylia forbid he hurt anyone else. He could hardly live with killing a Yiga.

But a ten-thousand-year-old monk’s wisdom and training would surely help mold him into the hero Hyrule needed — the hero Zelda needed. _Not_ a beast. This offering was everything he didn’t realize he was missing. To accept it… to _combat calamity…?_ Perhaps combat the calamity within him, as well? He wouldn’t hesitate to accept that.

Maybe the Goddess was smiling down on him, after all?

“...You’re serious?” Link gasped, a new light filling his mind.

The monk nodded, gesturing to himself. “As serious as a dead man walking,” he chuckled.

Link, blinking away his stupor, soon found himself nodding eagerly. A hopeful smile spread across his lips, his breath igniting in his lungs. “I would greatly appreciate your guidance. I could use every bit that I can get.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Please, Maz Koshia — train me. I accept your trial.”

Maz Koshia smiled widely behind his veil, his age-old aspirations coming into light. His voice brimmed with bright anticipation as he beamed, “Excellent. Your enthusiasm speaks to the promise of a hero. We shall begin immediately.”

His spirited tone faltered, however, as he crossed his arms and began to pace around Link, inspecting him for what to offer him first. “I admire your resolve, but I must admit, you’re… a tad different from the hero I was expecting,” the monk mused, gesturing to Link’s goggles and the scarf peeking beneath his hood.

The excitement bubbling through Link’s veins suddenly fizzled, a new swell of anxiety blooming, hot and panicked, inside his chest. He didn’t like where this was going. His lungs stuttered; he leaned away almost invisibly when Maz Koshia came back around to face him, the eye on his veil honed in on his disguise.

“Forgive my curiosity,” the monk began. “But why do you hide your face?”

The newfound dread within Link abruptly rotted into raw, nauseating disbelief. His stomach dropped into the floor, his spine stiffening. All at once, his mind churned with the unholy realization that the monk had no idea of the twisted power that coursed through his veins. As far as the monk knew, Link was unblemished by the claws of Calamity Ganon — he was the same Champion, if not an amnesiac one, that had been laid in the Shrine of Resurrection all those years ago.

Link stared, horrified, at the wise monk before him, completely unaware of how grossly ignorant he was. But how could that be? If the Goddess herself had inspired him… how could he not know?

 _Unless...?_ No. That was impossible. How could even the _gods_ not know? Link’s heart whimpered in his chest as grim theories stole into his thoughts.

When he fell deathly silent, the monk began to probe him with questions, concern rising in his voice. “Have you been injured? Or are you running from someone? Why do you hide?”

Curiosity overcoming him, Maz Koshia reached forward to touch Link’s scarf. But Link cringed away as if the monk had slapped him. Like a wounded animal, he raised his hands to protect himself.

“Don’t,” Link pled.

Maz Koshia’s body locked up at Link’s reaction, his arm lowering. A moment of rigid silence passed.

“Link…” the monk murmured. All determination had immediately faded from him, his voice low and cautious. “Link, what’s wrong?”

A bead of sweat slid down Link’s neck. He pushed down the bile threatening to rise up his throat. After what felt like an eternity, he shook his head weakly, croaking, “...You don’t know, do you?”

Taken by his words, Maz Koshia reared his chin back, his shoulders squaring. He considered his next words carefully, saying steadily, “Knowledge is a heavy mantle to bear, hero, and I have carried it without a murmur. By Hylia’s grace, I know _legions._ I have seen the Great Calamity; heard the cries of its thousands of victims; felt Hyrule bleed as it burned beneath its conqueror. I saw you laid to rest in the Shrine of Resurrection; listened to the Princess’s plights, every day, for one hundred years.”

He then leaned forward, urging Link, “I have seen all. _What_ don’t I know?”

So it was true. He didn’t know. The reality of that was… _insane._ Link’s brain spun at the gruesome truth — the truth that, in that moment, gnawed at his insides until he felt hollow. He wasn’t sure where to start. Where could he? A swamp of words stewed in his gut as he struggled to piece together a proper explanation. But how could he explain what he barely understood?

He didn’t know why he was corrupted, nor did he know how. Ultimately, all he could muster was a few frail, shallow words.

“Something happened. I’m… not right.”

There was another heavy pause. The gears in Maz Koshia’s head ground as he inspected his hesitant hero through the lenses of his goggles, endeavoring to see through them.

“Show me,” he demanded reverently.

Link forced down another bitter mouthful of dread. His bones jittered. He had no idea how the monk would react. From his experience revealing himself to others, he wasn’t sure whether to expect an attack, an onslaught of horror… or something else. Divine intervention, perhaps? Would the gods, in their horror, strike him down where he stood?

He’d have to find out the hard way. With shaking hands, Link slid back his hood and pulled his scarf and goggles away, exposing his face — horns, eyes, and all — for the monk to behold.

Maz Koshia gave a guttural gasp, stepping back. He nearly jumped out of his leathery skin when he accidentally tread on Dr. Calip’s arm. They had both forgotten he was even in the room. Distancing himself from the unconscious man on the floor, Maz Koshia wrenched his attention back to Link. His fingers curled into fists that hovered near his ribcage, his head twitching as he repeatedly scoured Link’s corrupted features with a disturbed sense of intrigue.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hissed.

Even after enduring many a reaction, Link would never get used to the initial shock he instilled in others. The monk was no exception. Somehow, his promise to train him made his knee-jerk reaction sting even worse. Link’s heart turned to stone in his chest, his throat clenching. He withered under Maz Koshia’s expectant gaze, his shoulders drooping.

“I don’t know…” he sighed.

“What do you mean — _you don’t know?”_ the monk repeated.

Link tangled his fingers in his hair, stuttering, “I-I mean that I woke up like this. In the Shrine of Resurrection. I don’t know how it happened. I’m not sure, but maybe something went wrong, or — ”

Maz Koshia abruptly pitched back in defiance. Link choked on a gasp and staggered away when the eye on the monk’s veil began to burn with a vivid orange fire. Like a predatory giant, Maz Koshia prowled towards Link, his head cocked to the side. Link froze in his place, shrinking away from the blazing glare of the mummy bearing down on him.

“What’s wrong with my Shrine?” Maz Koshia growled.

Link couldn’t help himself from shaking in the monk’s shadow. “ _My_ Shrine?” he wheezed.

“Yes — _my_ Shrine,” Maz Koshia affirmed, slapping his hand against his clavicle. “I designed the Shrine of Resurrection. I built it with my own hands — it is the single-most sophisticated medical facility ever devised. _It does not make mistakes.”_ He leaned in closer, his veil tickling Link’s bony nose. “Tell me — _what’s wrong with my Shrine?”_

“I-I don’t know — I don’t know, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you,” Link stammered. It all came back to him in a grisly flood. “Something was wrong with it when I woke up. E-everything was red, the bed was cracked. And then, th-the Slate... I think I did something to it — ”

“The Sheikah Slate, as well?!” Maz Koshia sputtered, cutting him off. His eyes flew to Link’s belt.

“...Yes,” Link winced, showcasing it from its place on his hip to the monk. The device seemed to take heed to his attention, flashing and trilling as if to wiggle its nonexistent fingers at him.

Before Link could react, Maz Koshia’s hand shot out and snatched the Slate from his belt. He held it up to his veil, his searing Sheikah eye boring into it with awe and disgust.

Just as they had in Kakariko, both Link and the Slate simultaneously writhed with anxiety upon being separated. Link broke out into a cold sweat, his gut seething with noxious panic. He jerked involuntarily forward, hand outstretched for the Slate.

“WAIT!” he cried, clamoring to take it back before he did anything desperate.

But the Slate took matters into its own hands — it adamantly refused to be parted from its master. Not again. It sparked with violent shades of crimson, shrieking in the monk’s grasp. The sound resembled glass shattering — it scratched at their ears like a knife. Maz Koshia reared his head back, startled by its reaction. But he didn’t release it. To ensure that he did, the Slate all but exploded, giving off a boiling gush of black, sludgy Malice from deep inside it. The Malice lapped at Maz Koshia’s fingers — he immediately let go, the Slate hitting the floor with a wet _splat._

Maz Koshia backed away with a gasp, his hands thrown in the air. Both he and Link stared at where the Slate had fallen, lying amidst a spitting, corrupted puddle. After a few moments, the pair watched it gather its Malice back into itself, reverting it to normal.

Though his body had petrified, Link’s heart bashed itself senseless against his ribs, begging him to take the Slate back. As if to snap him out of it, the Sheikah Slate chirped at him. Automatically, he tread forward as though he were crossing a thin sheet of ice, stooped, and picked it up. Reunited with its master, the device hummed and dulled its lights. Before it quieted itself, it showcased its delight upon being reunited with him, a single word appearing on its screen:

_Master._

Link’s blood ran cold in his veins. Swallowing, he slowly brought his gaze back up to Maz Koshia. In the aftermath, he found that the monk had gone awfully rigid apart from his head — he shook it, back and forth, almost robotically.

It took the monk a moment or two to collect himself. “This is a disturbing revelation,” he breathed, pressing his fingertips to his temples. The fire igniting his veil doused. “ _Very, very_ disturbing. What’s worse is that this... _eluded_ me, somehow… How could this have happened…?”

A moment of grave silence passed as the monk hunted through his mind to find the blindspot in his sight. Thousands of years of memories rang, clear as day, in his skull — but none showed him Link’s corruption. None of them. It didn’t make any sense.

“I was on my way to find that out,” Link muttered, recapturing the monk’s gaze. “To Hateno Village. I was told that someone there might be able to take a look at me and maybe… get it out.”

The monk released a shaky sigh, wringing his hands until his knuckles cracked. “Very well. I’m afraid the trial can wait — we must investigate at once.” He nodded to Link. “I’m coming with you.”

Though the notion of the monk accompanying him startled him — for reasons he couldn’t name — Link didn’t argue. The fact that the monk had been blindsided by his condition was unprecedented, as was the Sheikah Slate’s outburst. Neither of them had seen it fly into such a frenzy, before. It truly was disturbing, as the monk had put it. They needed answers, and they needed them _fast._

At the very least, however, Maz Koshia wasn’t lunging forward to slay Link. No, he wanted to understand. He _needed_ to understand, and Link needed to, as well. Links was grateful for this change of pace. And the more people he had on his side, the better.

“Okay,” Link replied, wetting his lips. “Let’s go.” He reapplied his scarf and goggles and set out with Maz Koshia to Hateno.

Before they could leave, they had to take care of Dr. Calip. They didn’t deliberate long on what to do with him. They left him where he had fallen while Maz Koshia scribbled a single word into his notebook in Sheikah writing. _Shrine._ He thought the doctor ought to know what ancient wonder he had stumbled upon. He’d just have to figure out the rest. They opened his notebook, draped it over his nose, and left him be.

At the urgency of the monk, the two of them left the Shrine behind and retraced Link’s steps beyond the overgrown glade and back into the wild. When they arrived at the road, Maz Koshia slowed and stopped, staring into the dirt.

“Everything okay?” Link asked, pausing.

The monk was quiet for a moment. “Yes — it’s just been centuries since I’ve walked this soil.” He placed his bare foot forward, burying his toes into the dirt. When he spoke again, a wistful smile hinted his words. “I’ve missed it.”

Link’s eyes ran along the walls of canyon shooting up around them. He breathed in the morning air, savoring it, trying to cleanse the panic from his blood. “Me too,” he agreed.

His smile fading, Maz Koshia gave a small sigh and peered down the road. His long hair fluttered beside his elbows in the passing breeze. “Do you have our heading, Link?” he asked.

Link peered down at the Sheikah Slate, booting up the map. His eyes ran from his personal marker to the glowing pin that marked Hateno Village far east. “Yes. From what I’m seeing, we should make it to Hateno around midnight… er, maybe later than that. Somewhere around there, I think.”

Maz Koshia grumbled to himself and folded his arms. “That long? Perhaps…? Hrm… no, I doubt their Travel Gate is online…” he mumbled, tapping his fingertips against his bicep.

Link blinked. “Their what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” the monk dismissed. “Just thinking aloud. We have no time to waste.” He gestured to the road. “Come. Let’s be off.”

Without further delay, the pair banked a left and began to walk.

The canyon beyond Fort Hateno was a wholly different experience from the terrain Link had previously walked. It lay rather open-faced beneath the wide sky spanning above it, inviting the wind to play along its rugged slopes. A river swept beside its thick, overgrown trails, nipping at the ankles of the towering cliffs that plodded alongside them. As they traveled, they found themselves moving with the land, scaling hills and depressions between shimmering pockets of sunlight. The earth seemed to rise and fall as if it were alive, breathing, soaking the wild into its lungs. The beauty surrounding them somewhat soothed Link’s resurged anxiety.

But while they hiked up the trail further into the canyon, Link couldn’t help but grow increasingly uncomfortable as he strode alongside Maz Koshia — for a few reasons. For starters, he, again, felt tiny compared to his imposing stature. Though the monk was bony and weathered, he nevertheless commanded the air around him with his presence alone. Link had no earthly idea what he would do if they met other travelers on the road. For once, it might not be him who sent them running.

In addition, for the first chunk of their journey, the two of them walked in utter silence. Even the sounds of their feet crunching against the trail seemed to shatter the tense air around them. It agitated Link’s very skin, somehow. He had someone to talk to, now, but he didn’t dare bother Maz Koshia. The monk’s concentration was palpable. Link hoped that, if he let him think, he’d come up with a solution to his predicament. Something. Anything. Surely, he had to have some idea of what to do?

The tension between them was by no means Maz Koshia’s intent. As they walked, his mouth remained screwed shut, his mind speeding and his eyes glazed ahead. The monk found himself drowning in a new wellspring of questions. He was both frustrated and fascinated by this turn of events; Link’s corruption had certainly been the very last thing he expected when he finally met the new hero.

Alas, even with centuries of knowledge filling his head, Maz Koshia struggled to comprehend it all. At length, his thoughts had spun themselves threadbare. He massaged his temples, endeavoring to untangle the jumbled knots of theory and doubt that bound his brain. Finally, he decided to give it a rest. It was no use thinking himself to death before he had the chance to fulfill his duty to the Goddess.

“So, Link,” the monk sighed, breaking what had felt like a lifetime’s-worth of silence. He turned his head, continuing, “Your condition… you have no idea why it beset you? Or how? You simply… awoke like this?”

Link felt he could breathe again now that they were speaking. He pried his eyes from the Sheikah Slate, giving a reluctant shrug. “Believe me, I was as shocked as you were when I first saw this face.” He tucked himself into his scarf, not wishing to relive his time in the ruined church. “I’d give anything to get rid of it.”

“I don’t blame you for that. I’m sure your journey has not been easy,” the monk sympathized. “We can only hope our visit to Hateno will prove fruitful.”

Link shook his head. “If it isn’t… I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he breathed.

The monk’s tone was faint when he murmured, “There isn’t much you _can_ do, hero — except carry on. That is all any of us can do. We did it once, amidst the ashes of the Great Calamity. And we can do so again.” Maz Koshia, in spite of his unease with what Link carried inside him, set his palm on Link’s shoulder, much to his shock. “Do not despair just yet. We will find a way. Even in darkness, the light always finds a way.”

A hint of a smile found Link’s lips. He appreciated Maz Koshia’s wisdom, as well as his sympathy. They were two kindnesses that weren’t given to him easily.

Maz Koshia continued to surprise him as he said, “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I know this is not your fault. I’m afraid this is all very new to me — I am not accustomed to surprises. They frighten me.”

“It’s all right — I’m getting used to it,” Link replied glumly. “My life’s been nothing but surprises ever since I woke up.”

“I imagine it has been.” The monk then clasped his hands, wondering, “I have grown curious about your experience, thus far. For whatever reason, it, too, has evaded me. Tell me, what has Hyrule been like, through your new eyes?”

Link frowned, thinking back. “Wild. Unforgiving. And yet… it’s been wonderful, as well,” he replied quietly, his time with the Sheikah, as well as his audience with King Rhoam, cooling his thoughts. “Somehow, I’ve been able to make some friends.”

Maz Koshia tilted his head thoughtfully. “Please, tell me everything. It seems I have much to catch up on.”

Link’s breath caught, and he ground his jaw. It was either tell the monk, or spend the rest of the day in silence. “It’s sort of a long story…” he murmured.

“Well, we have a ways to walk. And I do love a good story. Go on, I will listen.”

“All right, here goes...” Link agreed.

Link failed to realize how therapeutic it would be to discuss his journey thus far. He hadn’t gotten the opportunity to revisit his experiences in such detail with anyone before. As he spoke, the tension he hadn’t realized had built up in his body left him. With every memory that drifted in and out of his mind and mouth, he realized he had been through much more than he had imagined.

For the next while, Link told Maz Koshia his tale from the very beginning, going into depth about waking up in the reddened Shrine, then to his first contact with Zelda, and beholding Calamity Ganon consuming Hyrule Castle. He retold his visit with King Rhoam and the tragic history he imparted upon him, his strange exchanges with the Guardians, of following the corrupted dragon, his time with the Sheikah. Of Impa, Paya, Dorian, Cottla. Their faces brought a smile to his own.

But when he found himself on the cusp of his run-in with the Yiga, Link choked on his own story, terrified of what Maz Koshia would think of him and his monstrous outburst. He hadn’t exactly taken the news of his Shrine and the Sheikah Slate in-stride.

Throughout Link’s tale, the monk listened politely, only interjecting with a few questions here and there. But when Link paused, he raised his head and spoke up.

“I sense hesitation in you. What don’t you want to tell me? What else happened in Kakariko?” he pressed.

Their pace had slowed by then. Link, for some reason, felt weak in the knees. He stopped, looking ahead blankly. The monk came to a stop as well. They stood on a breezy, stone-studded crest of the trail overlooking a rolling valley beneath them. Link stared beyond Maz Koshia, trying to focus on the wild and not on the screams gurgling out of his suppressed memories.

“I… I did something. Something _horrible,”_ Link wheezed, his lungs rattling. “I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Link’s fear soured the air around them, making the monk’s lips purse. Clearly, whatever had happened had scarred the poor Hylian. Maz Koshia took Link by the shoulder, suggesting softly, “Sit down for a moment. Tell me what happened.”

Link shook his head wordlessly. Despite this, the monk continued to urge him, tightening his grip slightly. His voice was calm, comforting, encouraging. Like a father imploring his son. “I think it will help if you tell me. Please, sit down.”

Suddenly numb, Link obeyed against his better judgement, sinking into a seated position. He waited for a few moments while Maz Koshia settled onto the ground beside him before he dared dig up his harrowing actions from that night. They festered across his brain like a disease.

“A Yiga broke into the village,” Link began, his voice cold. “He took the Sheikah Slate. Hurt Paya. I went with Dorian to face him. Dorian tried to hand me over to him in exchange for the Sheikah Slate. I fought back, and… I…” He trailed off, his throat clenching. He went on, his voice breaking, “I killed him.”

There was a heavy pause.

“Not all death is wrong,” Maz Koshia finally murmured. “Sometimes, we must kill for the greater good.”

Link’s hands flew to his hood, where he clawed into his hair. “No. No — this was _wrong._ I didn’t just kill him — I _destroyed_ him.” He brought one hand down and glared, eyes burning, into his palm, spitting, “I reached inside him, shattered every bone in his body. _I melted him down into a puddle while he begged for his life.”_

Maz Koshia leaned back suddenly, a pang of fear flickering across his spine at the image that came into his head. It was as incredible as it was disquieting. He said nothing as he watched Link’s breath surge in and out of his lungs in short, staggered bursts, his mind boiling.

“And it was all because of this… _poison_ inside me,” Link hissed. “He wanted it. Almost _hungered_ for it. And I killed him with it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments while Maz Koshia gathered his thoughts. Part of him feverishly desired to see Link’s Malice in action, to analyze it, but the other was thoroughly frightened by its power. All the same, he figured asking Link to demonstrate it for him in his current state of mind would prove disastrous. Instead, he decided to change the tide of their conversation. It was his turn to tell tales.

“What a fitting end for a Yiga,” the monk finally said, wrenching Link out of his loathing. “Such is the fate of fools who do not understand the power they seek. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, and the Yiga Clan are well overdue for their lesson.”

Link’s brows sank low over his wide eyes. He raised his heavy head. “What do you mean?”

“The Yiga Clan are as old as I am, Link,” Maz Koshia explained, much to Link’s shock. “They weren’t always the fiends they are now. I remember a time when they were once part of the Sheikah.” His head drooped, his mind filling with sad, distant memories. “I called many of them my brothers and sisters. We worked in laboratories across Hyrule, tinkering with the technology that made the kingdom the blossoming civilization it once was.”

Maz Koshia raised his eyes to the sky, his heart sinking. “With our efforts, we created technological feats of which mankind had never seen. As the King told you, we invented the Guardians, the Divine Beasts, the Shrines, the Sheikah Slate, and much more. There wasn’t an inch of the kingdom we had not inspired. We gloried in our achievements, for we had no equal — not even the wrath of Calamity Ganon could withstand our technological prowess.”

Link stirred where he sat. “You fought Calamity Ganon?” he breathed. “I thought — well, King Rhoam told me — that that was just a legend.”

The monk turned the Sheikah eye on him. “All legends stem from somewhere, hero. I lived through it. Watched as it _became_ legend.”

Link’s blood slowed in his veins. His thoughts swam with blurry bursts of a war he couldn’t remember. “What was it like? His attack?”

The monk sighed through his nose. “Great and terrible. He attacked with the fury of a god and the mindless rage of a blood-starved beast. But that was his downfall. He was blinded by his hatred, charging into the kingdom without heed. True, he devastated everything in his path, but without strategy, he had no chance of success. Our machines rose to defend us, and he was sent, howling and defeated, into the ashes of his own undoing.

“That day changed the kingdom forever. The people, though grateful for our assistance, began to see the Sheikah as threats. Thanks to our technology, we had defeated a demon. But the people began to murmur, fearing that, should we have desired it, we would overthrow the crown and take Hyrule. We assured the people that that was far from the case, but we were overruled. The royal family commanded us to denounce our technology and live in peaceful exile.”

Link leaned back and shook his head, baffled — and somewhat disgusted — by his story. “That doesn’t sound fair,” he protested. “Why should _you_ be seen as a threat when you defeated the real threat to the kingdom?”

Maz Koshia shrugged. “It was what it was. Fear and paranoia bring out the worst in people. The majority of us complied, settling in Kakariko and other places. Unfortunately, there were those of us who felt betrayed by the people they had labored so intensely to save. They found them ungrateful, selfish, foolish. With their legacy stripped from them, they founded a group that vowed revenge on those who had made them into outcasts. They became the Yiga Clan.”

A chill rolled through Link’s neck. Maz Koshia stated, “You may feel remorse for what you did to that Yiga you slayed, but I do not. They have committed more atrocities than you know.”

Link shuddered, thinking of Dorian’s wife, his tongue going bitter. He had gotten a taste of what they had done — but only a taste. And that was enough.

Maz Koshia went on, to Link’s horror, “Among many, they sought out us monks, attempting to coerce us over to their ranks. If we refused, we were hunted down and killed for sport.” He paused and pressed his palms together as if praying for the fallen. Pressing his steepled fingers into his veil, he continued, his voice grim, “Over the course of many bloody years, I watched as dozens of my brethren met their ends by Yiga blades. Our devotion to the Goddess was infallible — we refused to betray her radiance. And for that devotion, one by one, all were slain.”

His hands fell into his lap. Link, his heart stone-cold, could only stare at him. A breeze whispered silently between them.

“Apart from me, that is,” the monk murmured. “I was the lucky one. Hylia preserved me for this day; I am eternally grateful for her grace.” He turned his head to Link, saying humbly, “Without it, I never would have fulfilled my task — I never would have met you.”

Link swallowed, shuddering. “...I’m sorry about the other monks, Maz Koshia. I can’t imagine how awful that must have been,” he muttered, sorrow constricting his lungs. He hung his head. “And... I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was.”

The monk shook his head tenderly. “Do not apologize to me, Link. After hearing your experiences, I know you are more that hero now than you ever were. For facing your challenges in the shadow of this poison, I feel for you, and I commend you.” He straightened, brandishing a fist. “Once we understand it, I will take the greatest pride in training you. You have my word.”

Link’s heart warmed at his words. He gave Maz Koshia a reverent bow of his head. “Thank you. I would be honored.”

“Likewise,” the monk nodded. Raising his head, he cast a glance into the sky, noting where the sun hung high above them. “Now, I believe it is as good a time as any to take a break. We ought to get some food in you. We still have a ways to go.”

Link was suddenly reminded that it was around lunchtime — his stomach twinged, snarling, seemingly gesturing to his packs. Needing no further coercion from both his stomach and Maz Koshia, he shook off his bags and sorted through the provisions Impa had packed for him, scrounging up some lunch for the two of them.

Impa had thought of everything. From foodstuffs to spices to pots and everything in-between. Link, uplifted from Impa’s gifts and his conversation with Maz Koshia, busied himself with putting together a small fire. The flint Impa provided worked wonders for it. Once the fire had begun to crackle, Link took up Paya’s recipe book, flipping to something hearty to carry them through the day. He skewered several Hylian bass, some mushrooms, and carrots together, seasoned them, and set them against the flames.

Maz Koshia watched Link work with delight. He hadn’t had the need to cook in several thousand years. It reminded him of home. While he was looking forward to tasting the dish Link was preparing, something caught his eye as Link began to put away extra ingredients.

“Erm, Link…?” the monk began, a bit shyly.

Link turned his head. “Huh?” He found Maz Koshia seated a tad stiffly, one of his hands curled near his veil. Even with it covering his face, Link could tell that his eyes had lit up upon seeing something laying across the grass.

He followed the monk’s gaze to it. The banana Calip had paid him with. Link had taken it out without a second thought.

Maz Koshia pointed gingerly at the banana, requesting, “May I? Those were always my favorite.”

Link didn’t have any problem with him eating it. “Please, by all means.” He picked it up, passing it to him. “Here.”

The monk took it and gave him a grateful bow of his head. “Thank you very much,” he said. Eager as he was to taste his favorite fruit, again, he waited until the skewers had finished cooking. When they were done, Link passed one to Maz Koshia, and, taking up an apple for himself, the two shared a meal.

As they ate, Link couldn’t help but watch Maz Koshia. It was a bizarre sight, beholding a mummy at a meal. He lifted his veil slightly to take careful, deliberate bites out of his food, chewing with petrified teeth. He didn’t even bother removing the peel before consuming his banana. Link thought that strange, but he let it lie. He had certainly seen stranger things.

Lunch was pleasant, but they didn’t dwell long; both grew anxious to resume their journey. After stamping out the fire, Link and Maz Koshia proceeded back onto the road. This time, they chatted. Link peppered the monk with questions about what life was like ten thousand years before. He answered with fondness and nostalgia in his voice, painting Link’s mind with stories.

Meanwhile, Maz Koshia asked Link about his condition — what it felt like, if it was painful, if it impacted his sleep and his thoughts. Link replied as best he could, hoping he was providing enough to satisfy the monk’s curiosity. Maz Koshia kept mental notes as they spoke.

Though they were both still ill at ease with Link’s condition, they stowed their worries for the time being. Time would tell them exactly what they should worry about.

All in all, the rest of their trek was a welcome change from their walk prior. Though things had soured a bit between them initially, Link felt as though he had made another friend. And for that, he was grateful.

Despite the monk’s aged body, he kept pace with Link well. They were making decent time. By the time the sun had begun to set, they could make out a cluster of lights far off in the distance. Link, excitement fluttering in his chest, raised the scope on the Sheikah Slate, peering through it. Sure enough, there it was. Hateno. The clusters of alabaster houses and tall windmills tucked on a hillside glistened in the setting sun, beckoning them.

Their destination in-sight, they quickened their pace.

When night fell, they stopped by the wayside while Link sorted through his pack for a lantern. Maz Koshia stood above him, scanning their surroundings. The road had since sloped into the valley floor, snaking between the gentle waves of hills tumbling along the plains. Along the way, they had spotted the weathered remnants of several old outposts, as well as an abandoned, overgrown equestrian range. For some reason, the lost structures were unsettling in the dark. The shadows itching at his skin, Link stopped, insisting on finding a lantern.

He had just pulled one out of his pack when a strange sound rang into the night, startling them both. Maz Koshia held a hand out before Link when he jumped to his feet, a hand on the hilt of his sword, scouring the shadows for the culprit of the sound. It seemed to have come from the nearby riding range

Link could only describe the sound as a kind of grunty, guttural grouse. Almost pig-like. It made his brows knit together — he had never heard anything like it. Maz Koshia raised himself up on his tiptoes and peered between the skeletons of the range’s gatepost, searching. Then he spotted them, leaping out of the undergrowth, clubs in-hand, howling and chasing after something that squeaked as it bound out of the way.

“Shh-shhh!” Maz Koshia cautioned, hunkering down a little where he stood. Link followed his lead, his eyes finally catching the figures of their guests. “Keep quiet — they haven’t seen us.”

In that moment, the moon slid out of cover of the clouds, painting the night in sapphire moonlight. Link lowered his lantern, blinking at what the moonlight illuminated: it was a pack of peculiar creatures, giving chase to a buck crowned with an impressive rack of antlers. He galloped across the equestrian range, leaping a fence with ease. The three smaller creatures tailing him were able to hop the fence, while the larger creature was forced to stop. With a rumbling roar, it waved its weapon: a tree trunk that had been crudely-fashioned into a club.

The larger creature watched its cohorts continue to give chase. Link inspected it. Compared to Maz Koshia, it was enormous, towering a good two heads above even him. It had deep, crimson skin and was built long and lanky, though it didn’t lack for muscle. Ragged strips of clothing hung from its pelvis and unkempt claws sprouted from its fingers and toes. It had beady eyes, a long, pig-like snout, and small ears that sagged toward the ground, a single horn jutting from its forehead. Judging by its size, it was the ringleader.

The other three creatures resembled it, though in more compact, exaggerated forms. They scurried across the ground waving chunky clubs in their fists, their oversized ears flopping as they went. Grunts of war gurgled out of their broad maws, their eyes aglow with the hunt. They, too, sported threadbare loincloths, pig-like snouts, and a single, small, stunted horn on their heads. They stood around Link’s height, making them a tad less imposing than their leader. All the same, he didn’t exactly envy the buck.

Link and Maz Koshia watched them chase the buck around the range for a moment or two. The monk murmured, informing Link of what he was looking at, “A Moblin and some Bokoblins. Foul creatures. They terrorize travelers and hunt and eat anything they can get their claws on. We’d best leave them be — we have other engagements.”

Link didn’t need telling twice. The last thing he wanted to do that night was delay their arrival at Hateno — they were nearly there as it was. He carefully put the lantern back into his bag and shouldered it. Leaving the monsters to their chase, he and Maz Koshia snuck away, navigating by moonlight.

Thankfully for their aching feet, their arrival at Hateno didn’t take much longer. They wound along the last stretch of the road, scattering clouds of fireflies as they went, until they stood at the base of their final hill, coming face-to-face with the brick-and-mortar gatepost. It stood above them with open arms, the warm, twinkling lights of the village welcoming them after a long day’s walk.

“We made it,” Link beamed.

It was several hours past midnight, then, so thankfully, no one was around to greet them. It was a blessing in disguise — had anybody beheld Maz Koshia, Link highly doubted they would have been let in at all. That would have been just his luck. Had that been the case, he might have had to infiltrate the village — something he was much too tired to do. His eyes stung with fatigue and his hips were stiff, the soles of his feet burning. He’d give anything for a nice bed.

Maz Koshia read his thoughts. He clasped his hands, peering at him. “Come along. We ought to find you someplace to sleep. The Great Ton Pu Inn is just off the main marketplace.” The monk lead Link forward, climbing the hill and passing under the gatepost. A bed of shaggy, overgrown cobblestones clapped under their feet as they walked.

Link’s brows furrowed at Maz Koshia’s suggestion. “You’ve been here before?” he wondered.

“Many times,” the monk replied. “The vegetables grown here are good. As is the fresh air. I spent many a summer studying here.” He smiled at the pale, red-shingled homes they strode between on the main road. “It hasn’t changed much since my last visit.”

Link joined him in taking in the village. He already felt somehow at home — like he had walked these streets before. The feeling itched at his brain. Several houses stood alongside garden plots lined with crops, guarded by scattered trees and the towering chimneys sprouting from every building. The windmills dotting the hillside sighed in the night breeze while crickets chorused in harmony around them. The village seemed to breathe deeply with the night, curled beneath the full moon.

Closing his eyes, Link breathed along with it. It was peaceful. He had been craving a peace like this.

He followed Maz Koshia past several houses and a slew of closed-up shops, peddling clothing, goods, and bottles of dye. At the far-end of the thoroughfare sat the biggest building of them all: the inn. It welcomed them closer with a flutter of its flags, its windows warmly aglow. Link walked forward eagerly — he could already feel the plush embrace of a bed coddling him off to sleep.

They paused briefly before entering, exchanging glances. Link shrugged, saying sheepishly, “Maybe you should stay here for a second. Let me grab a room and I’ll meet you at it, okay?”

Maz Koshia shrugged. “Fair enough,” he mused, leaning against a lamppost.

Securing his goggles, Link climbed the steps to the inn and slipped inside. He entered a spacious reception area breathing with subtle candlelight, equipped with a front desk. A young woman stood behind the desk, her chin leaned against her palm and her heavy eyes glued to a book laid beneath her. She didn’t so much as look up when Link walked in.

Gulping down his anxiety at social interaction, he approached her. “Excuse me?” he said quietly, worried his voice would startle her. “I’d, er, like to rent a room, please.”

She brought her eyes up from her book, blinking rapidly when she caught a glimpse of Link’s goggles. The whites of her eyes were dry and rimmed with pink. To his panic, she shook her head, murmuring sleepily, “Sorry, pal, but we’re all full. Just had a group of tourists roll in from Lover’s Pond.” She aimed a thumb at the door. “You’re welcome to stay in the donkey stable if you’re desperate, but you’ll have to pay for a bath in the morning.”

Link’s head dipped at her news, his weary eyes widening. He was crestfallen. He had been looking forward to sleeping in a bed. “O-okay. Thanks,” he mumbled, tugging down his hood and shuffling out the door.

He flopped down the inn’s steps with heavy feet, his head swimming from his exhaustion. He trudged back to Maz Koshia, sighing, “They’re full. Looks like we’re camping, tonight.” He turned his head and gestured to a paddock nearby, where a few horses and donkeys stood tethered. “Unless we want to sleep there.”

The monk looked from the stable to him, inspecting him for a moment. He frowned, bringing his arm around his back, ushering him forward. “We’ll make it work. Come, I saw a nice spot just off of the entrance of the village.”

The pair backtracked, slowly, tiredly, to the gatepost. Maz Koshia had been about to continue walking down the hill when Link took an unexpected left at a branching path. The monk paused, looking after Link as he walked, almost robotically, down the new path. It curved between several sets of brand-new houses. Model homes for a construction company.

“Link?” Maz Koshia called out. “Where are you going?”

Link didn’t respond. He just kept walking, his eyes on his boots, his mind foggy. Confused, Maz Koshia pursued him, catching up with him as he proceeded to stride across a bridge spanning a brook. The monk attempted to recapture Link’s attention, only to stop himself when he caught sight of what lay ahead.

A lone house stood on a modest outcrop of land. It sat in the shadow of a colossal apple tree that stretched nearly as tall as the chimney shooting out of the house. Wildflowers sprouted in the front yard amidst pickaxes and hammers. The windows were dark and the fire pit near the apple tree was cold. Though it looked abandoned, Link nevertheless walked toward it as though he owned the place.

Maz Koshia gaped at what he was seeing, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Without a word, he followed Link as he approached the old house, swung the front door open, and stepped inside. The monk had to duck to enter. The moment he did so, he turned to watch as Link leaned against the wall and slipped his boots off, dumping them by the door.

Then, all at once, Link froze, suddenly coming back to himself. He stood stiffly, eyes flitting about the unfamiliar home he had just strolled into. It was like he had gone on autopilot. What was he doing?

“Whoa, where am I?” Link wondered, turning his head toward Maz Koshia. “Does anybody live here?! Did I just barge in?!”

Maz Koshia gave an innocent shrug, gesturing to the dust-coated table and chairs in the heart of the room. “Not that I can see. It seems this house has been vacant for quite some time.”

“Yeah…” Link mused, his brain feeling… off. Maybe it was just his exhaustion getting to him? Either way, he needed to get some sleep.

Puzzled, he took a closer look around. From what he could see in the half-darkness, the house was cozy. Plenty of room for one person – perhaps two – to live comfortably. The moonlight filtering in through the window in the loft cascaded onto the objects laid about — bookshelves still packed with books, the dining room set, a fireplace, the slatted staircase. Curious as to what lay in the loft, Link padded across the creaky floorboards and up the stairs. He found a small bedroom equipped with a writing desk and several nightstands. The window bathed the bed in the corner in pale, inviting moonlight — it called out to Link in an almost naggingly-familiar fashion.

Link approached the bed, nearly throwing himself onto it. He brushed off a layer of dust coating the pillow. It conformed with the curvature hand, its plush material somehow jogging his memory. Without pulling his eyes from it, he called out, “You really don’t think anybody lives here, Maz Koshia?”

The monk stooped to avoid bumping his head on the low ceiling as made his way up the stairs and joined Link in the loft. He shook his head, his smile hidden behind his veil. “Definitely not.” He gestured around, musing, “I imagine that if we were to spend the night here, no one would notice.”

Link’s fingertips caressed the bed. Already, he was envisioning shedding his bags and crawling under the sheets. “You think so?”

Maz Koshia watched his reaction to the house with happy fascination. “I know so. Go on. Rest your head. You’ve had quite the day, hero.”

That was all the reasoning Link needed. Before he dumped his things onto the floor, he paused and turned to Maz Koshia. “But… where are you going to sleep?”

The monk shook his head, raising a hand. “No, I won’t be sleeping.” His gaze flickered to the Sheikah Slate, his mind swimming with the revelations of that morning. “I need to think. I’ll be downstairs.” Turning, he began to make his way down the steps, bidding Link goodnight with a wave. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Link craned his head to watch the monk settle down on the floor in front of the fireplace, pressing his palms together and sitting cross-legged. He went as still as a statue, losing himself in his thoughts. Link’s eyes were nearly glued shut by the time had realized Maz Koshia was keeping true to his word.

Link had no idea how late it was, but he didn’t need to, nor want to. Removing his goggles, he set them on the nightstand and dropped his bags by his bedside. Casting the sheets back, he collapsed into bed in a poof of dust. But he didn’t care. He melted into the mattress dust and all, his body breathing a sigh of relief. He nodded off almost instantly.

Downstairs, Maz Koshia smiled as he listened to Link’s deep, drawing breaths. In spite of his hardships, and they were many, he had made it through.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a chapter! This one's a fun one. I wanted to include travel sections throughout the story -- I don't use horses in the game that often, preferring to walk around and see the world at my own pace. I didn't want the travel sections to be boring, however, so I included bits of world-building and story-telling to break it up a little. Hope it works! If you have any suggestions or tweaks you think I should make, let me know!  
> Anyhow, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Any questions? Comments? Concerns? Predictions? I'd love to hear them! Hit me up with a comment below if you'd like.  
> As always, stay tuned for the next update!  
> ~Sammy


	14. Dead to Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends, to another chapter of Corrupted Hero! Here, we continue with our new friend Maz Koshia... into Hateno! This next arc of the story is really exciting, I'll say that up front. :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a fun one!   
> As always, thank you for your support. I'm looking forward to seeing you in the next update!

Link had never slept more soundly in his life. While his nights in Kakariko were undoubtedly pleasant, they paled in comparison to the blissful rest he enjoyed in the empty house in Hateno. He dissolved into the bed that night, sleeping so deeply that he didn’t even dream. He slept like a rock till nine in the morning, when something smashed against the outside wall, shocking him awake.

He nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound, gulping in a gasp and jolting upright. “What’s that?!” he panicked. “What’s going on?!”

Link wasn’t the only one who had gotten a rude awakening. Maz Koshia jolted so hard his hat fell off, the eye on his veil burning with a defensive fire. The monk scrambled to his feet and exchanged a fleeting glance with Link before his head followed the chorus of crashing echoing into the house. It seemed to come from all sides — heavy, clacking thuds that shook the walls and window panes.

“...I think there is someone outside,” Maz Koshia said, brows furrowed. He carefully slipped his hat back on. “Who that may be, I’m not sure...?”

Link, fully awake now, turned to the bedside window. He had no idea what he would find out there, but nevertheless flew to investigate. He took up a sword just in case. Snatching his goggles, he yanked them over his face and crawled to the window, opening it and poking his head out.

His eyes were immediately wrenched to the source of the racket: a young man was hard at work swinging the head of a sledgehammer against the house, dislodging bricks as he went. When the window opened, the young man glanced up, half-noticed Link, and reared his arms back to strike the house again. It took him a few seconds to do a double-take once he registered Link’s presence.

The young man blinked and took a step back, his dark brows knitting together. “Hey! What are you doing?!” he cried, making Link jump and thunk his head against the window.

Link rubbed the back of his head, stammering, “W-what are _you_ doing?!”

“I’m workin’ here!” the young man replied, gesturing his hammer to the house. “This place ain’t gonna tear itself down. You shouldn’t be in there! Get out, right now!”

Link blinked, stunned. He hadn’t expected this. It took a moment for the young man’s words to sink in, but even so, Link remained in his place, his body still trying to catch up with his brain. He knew the house was empty, but why was it being torn down at all?

When Link failed to react, the young man inspected him more closely. His eyes trailed from Link’s goggles to his disheveled red hair. “...Wait, were you _sleeping_ in there?” the young man wondered, his face screwing up.

“I-I, uh…” Link mumbled, beginning to sweat.

His blatant guilt was enough of an answer. The young man finally overcame his surprise. Squinting, he held Link in his gaze, turned his head, and shouted for someone. “Boss!? We got a situation!”

Link’s stomach dropped. “Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t slept there. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene. He’d already gone and done that in Kakariko… with disastrous results. But how was he to know that the house was being torn down? Either way, he had to get out of there before he somehow became the scourge of the village. Again.

Without another word, Link shot back inside, slammed the window shut, and hurried off of the bed. He heard the young man shout from outside, “Hey! Get back here!” followed by a flurry of footsteps.

“Crap — _crap!”_ Link hissed to himself. He didn’t bother making the bed. He seized up his scarf and packs, shimmying into the straps and sheathing his sword. In his blind haste, he tripped over his own feet as he stampeded down the stairs.

Thankfully, Maz Koshia caught him before he crashed face-first on the floor. “Thanks,” Link wheezed.

“Don’t mention it.”

Righting himself, Link fumbled with his scarf with shaking hands. “We gotta go, Maz! _Now!”_

Maz Koshia didn’t object. He remained calm in spite of Link’s panic. But the monk’s brows hadn’t relaxed — they remained crinkled as he turned his head towards the door. He handed Link his boots, mumbling, “I don’t understand why they are doing this… It’s not as if you told them to knock down your own house.”

Link had been in the middle of hopping on one foot and tugging a boot on, when the monk’s words stopped him cold. His head snapped up, his brows skyrocketing. “Wait, _what?!”_

Before he could prod any further, the front door burst open. Link, already jumpy as it was, flinched and lost his balance, falling to the floorboards in a heap. He faced the three figures standing against the wave of brilliant morning light pouring into the house, his hair frazzled, his goggles askew, scarfless and hoodless, one boot on. Like a tall shadow, Maz Koshia slunk behind the door, hiding from the men who proceeded inside.

Physically, they weren’t intimidating by any means. But in that moment, they might as well have been Moblins, what with Link’s paralyzing fear of human interaction coupled with the fact that he had been caught trespassing. He cowered beneath them, his spine stiff and his heart stopped cold.

The young man had brought his coworkers. The man next to him was stocky and had a bushy mustache and eyebrows, a pickaxe slung over his shoulder. The other man leading them must have been the boss — slender and confident, he held a logbook in one hand and had a pencil tucked behind his ear. They all wore blue vests, with the boss sporting bright pink trousers and a puffy, striped collar.

“That’s the guy, Bolson,” the young man said, pointing at Link where he lay. Link cringed upon being spoken to. “He was sleeping here!”

The boss, who Link now knew as Bolson, inspected him with a curl of his lip and tight eyes. Link was too paralyzed to do or say anything. He could only pray that Bolson wouldn’t look too closely at his the tips of his horns peeking through his tousled hair. He hadn’t gotten his hood on in time.

Miraculously, Bolson was more interested in corroborating his employee’s story. He looked from Link and to the loft, making note of the messy bed. He tutted, returning his attention to Link.

“What is going _on?”_ Bolson demanded. “What are you _doing,_ young man, squatting in this empty house? This is private property. What are you, some sort of _bum?_ ”

Anxiety boiled in Link’s stomach. He somehow managed to say, “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would be a problem! I just needed someplace to spend the night.”

Bolson raised a brow. “What, and the Ton Pu Inn suddenly lacked rooms? They don’t call it great for nothing, y’know.”

Link tried to explain himself. Perhaps he could somehow talk his way out of this mess? It hadn’t exactly worked for him before, but he at least had his goggles to hide behind this time. Bolson and his employees hadn’t seen his face… yet.

“They were full. Really. That was what the girl at the desk told me,” Link said. Bolson’s brows remained low, unconvinced. Link gulped again, his gaze flickering to where Maz Koshia hid behind the door, silently begging him for help. The monk stood statue-like, listening. He held a finger to his veil as if to shush him.

Unsure as to what he meant by that, Link went on, slowly raising himself into a crouch. “I’m so sorry — I didn’t mean to intrude,” he repeated. “I’ll leave right now. A-and I’ll never come back. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”

The three men exchanged glances. Link thought for a moment that he had evaded punishment.

Bolson finally shook his head, sighing. “I suppose that even _if_ the inn was full, we’ll have to report you to Thadd, regardless. He likes to keep tabs on visitors — especially the _ne’er-do-wells.”_ He motioned for his employees, much to Link’s horror. Bolson continued, “Karson, Hudson, gents, grab him, won’t you? Our little squatter’s coming with us.”

Karson, the young man, and Hudson, the man with the mustache, obeyed and put down their tools, advancing toward Link.

A bomb of raw panic exploded in Link’s chest, blasting his heart into his throat and sending him scrambling away. But he didn’t get far — his head hit the dining room table, coaxing a wheeze of terror out of him. _Not again._ He couldn’t believe this was happening _again._ He couldn’t repeat his introduction to Kakariko, his outburst, his imprisonment — he just couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if his heart and his conscience could take it.

He tried in vain to reason with them. “There’s no need for that, really!” he stuttered, shying away from the advancement of Karson and Hudson. “Please, I don’t understand why this is such a crime! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Bolson shrugged. “Even if you didn’t, we don’t take trespassing lightly. What gives you the right to just waltz into someone else’s home unannounced? This place doesn’t belong to _you,_ now does it?”

“Well, no, but I — !”

But Bolson wouldn’t hear it, cutting Link off with a huff and another shake of his head. There was no getting through to him. Link choked as his attention was pulled back to Karson and Hudson, who were nearly upon him.

He had no idea what to do. What _could_ he do? He didn’t dare defend himself. Not with the possibility of his Malice erupting from him. Should he flash them his face and send them screaming? That might have been his last resort, though he loathed the thought of it. Heart climbing into his throat, he sorted through his limited options. It seemed he had no choice.

But just as he was about to reach for his goggles, a deep, calm voice interrupted them.

“Pardon me, but I have evidence otherwise.”

Everyone’s attention jerked toward the source of the voice. Link almost collapsed with relief when he recognized it. Maz Koshia slid out from the cover of the door, clasping his hands and gazing upon them all like a judge. Bolson and his men all froze, shrinking beneath the towering monk’s ancient gaze.

“Who… w-who are you?” Bolson breathed, taking in the monk’s bones jutting through his leathery skin; the shadows playing off of his skeleton made him look like he had just crawled out of a grave.

Maz Koshia turned his veil upon Bolson, making him flinch back. The monk replied cordially, “I am Maz Koshia, and I know many things.” He pointed a bony finger toward the logbook in the crook of Bolson’s arm. “For instance, if you look at your records, you will find the title deed to this house.” He then gestured toward the rafters, saying, “One hundred years ago, this house’s owner set off for Hyrule Castle to report for service. He never came back, and, as you know, left this place vacant ever since.

“Until now, of course.” Maz Koshia aimed an open palm at Link, who remained silent, agape at the tale the monk was weaving. “This is he: Link, the owner,” Maz Koshia said. With a smile, he crooned, “Now, I’m sure he would appreciate it if you didn’t run him out of his own house.”

For what felt like an eternity, everyone stared at the monk, dumbstruck. Bolson finally managed to drag his gaze away and flipped through his logbook, his eyes bulging over his records. Near the back of his book, he found the faded sheet for the house and skimmed through it. His tongue soured when he read Link’s name. How had this bizarre creature known about this?!

Turning back to the monk, Bolson gawped, “B-but that’s impossible! That was a century ago! He should be dead by now!”

Maz Koshia shrugged. “Well, when you put it that way, yes, I suppose he should be. But he is quite the opposite, as you can see.” Pausing, he then tucked an arm beneath his ribcage and rested his elbow on it, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Hm… Now that I think about it, I should be, too... What do you think?”

Maz Koshia then proceeded to peel away his veil, exposing his face. Black, empty eye sockets and an open maw full of petrified teeth grinned down at them, weathered skin pulled tight over his skull. The jaws of the men before him all gave a collective drop, their eyes widening to the size of dinner plates — Link included.

Maz Koshia tilted his head with a disturbing crack of his neck, musing, “Do I look dead to you, Bolson?”

Bolson and his employees ripped the air apart with their screams. Turning tail, they stampeded out the door, casting down their belongings and tripping over each other in their desperate escape, howling as they went.

Link stared after them, amazed. A small smile crept across his mouth. He jumped when Bolson’s logbook slammed against the floor.

Maz Koshia leaned over to watch them retreat through the doorway. When they had vanished around the corner, a bright giggle bubbled out of him. “Well, that was fun,” he said, reapplying his veil. He rested his hands on his hip bones as he thought aloud, “Although, in hindsight, I probably could have handled that a bit better…”

Link blinked off his amazement, gazing up at him. “How do you mean? That was… brilliant.”

The monk shrugged. “Why, thank you, Link, but I’m afraid they have a story to tell, now... though I doubt anybody will believe them.”

Link’s smile faded, his thoughts dawning with what they had just done. If he thought about it, he also doubted anyone would believe Bolson’s hysterical tales of a walking, talking mummy. But even so, their fear was surely justified enough to prompt an investigation. And things would only worsen from there if they were caught. Link suddenly found himself out of breath at the thought of facing another village full of terrified people.

Dread and anxiety brewed in his blood. Link held his head and slumped against the table, groaning, “No, no, no — what did I _do?_ Oh, this is turning into Kakariko all over again…!”

Maz Koshia shook his head. “Not unless we hurry. Come along,” he inspirited. “We’ll slip away to the research lab before they come back with the others. It will be like we were never here.”

Ah, the lab. In all the commotion, Link had almost forgotten what they had come to Hateno for in the first place. The reminder of their purpose reignited some hope within him. Stoking that fire, Maz Koshia offered Link his hand and pulled him to his feet. Once Link had tugged on his other boot and donned his scarf and hood, the pair rushed out of the house.

As they made their way out, Link cast a glance over his shoulder. Somehow, the house’s face had changed — it seemed more familiar to him, the glint of sunlight on its windows like a friendly wink. He suddenly felt as though he had seen it a million times over. But could it truly be _his_ house? The thought of that made him feel something akin to belonging.

But he’d have to ask Maz Koshia about it later. For the moment, they couldn’t linger. Not wasting a second, they darted across the dewy grass and onto the bridge, bypassing the cluster of model homes on the outskirts of the village. Before they turned onto the main road, Maz Koshia brought the two of them to a halt, where they paused for a moment, hiding behind the main gatepost.

Maz Koshia scouted ahead. Link followed his lead, peering around the monk’s bony elbow and into the village. Hateno thrived before them in the fresh morning light, birdsong and chatter filling the air. Children darted about the main thoroughfare, chasing each other with wooden play swords, while shopkeepers beckoned to the dense groups of travelers wandering between storefronts.

Link scoured the crowds for any sign of Bolson and his employees, only managing to track them down when he spotted the unmistakable pink of Bolson’s trousers. Link squinted at them all where they stood near a house at the village mouth. They were swarming around a man in a farmer’s hat, flinging their arms in the air maniacally. Link couldn’t hear what they were saying above the bustle of the village, but nonetheless knew they were panicking about Maz Koshia. The man in the hat’s brows furrowed. He picked up a pitchfork he had thrust in the ground and asked them something.

Link’s heart staggered in his chest, his breath catching. “Too late, Maz,” he worried, shaking his head. “They’ve already told someone!”

Maz Koshia, level-headed as always, didn’t so much as blink. “We’d best be quick, then. Look there!” the monk said, grabbing Link by the shoulder and pointing toward the sky. Link followed his finger, laying eyes on a distant tower crowning a soaring hilltop above the village. “There’s the lab. We will make our way there. Hurry, now!”

Giving Link a pat on the back, the monk ushered him toward Hateno proper before dashing away toward the model homes nearby.

Link, grinding to a stop for only a second, called after him, “Wait! Where are you going?”

Maz Koshia waved, calling back, “I’ll take another route! I’ll follow you up!” before he slipped behind a home and vanished.

Link chewed his lip, worried that someone would see him. How could they not? Ultimately, the reminder of Bolson and the pitchfork-wielding man spurred his feet into action. He had to have faith that the monk knew what he was doing. He had been to Hateno before, after all. Grasping the clasp of his hood, Link ducked his head and jogged into the village.

He wove through the throng on the thoroughfare quickly and quietly, his gaze flickering about for any trace of Bolson or Maz Koshia. But he couldn’t seem to find either anywhere he looked. He was grateful for Bolson’s scarcity, but how could a towering mummy just disappear? Growing ever more anxious, Link engrossed himself in his search, driving his feet forward. But his anxiety distracted him. He only noticed the man standing in his path until after he had bulldozed him into the dirt.

They hit the ground hard, the man landing flat on his face. Link ended up draped across him. The basket the man had been carrying fell as a result, half a dozen eggs and a bottle of milk cracking open on the ground. Passersby scattered. When the dust had settled, Link realized with a rush of horror what he had done. Gasping, he scrambled off of the poor stranger, rushing to help him.

“Oh man, I am _so sorry,”_ Link apologized, getting on hand and knee and reaching for the remains of the man’s groceries. Eggshells and yolk slathered the grass; the man’s glasses lay in a puddle of milk. Link gathered what was intact, his cheeks burning. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, I am so sorry.”

Grunting, the man pulled his nose out of the dirt, squinting about him. “Hey, it’s no trouble,” he dismissed with a grimace. “Busy morning. We’ve all got places to be.”

He eased himself up, feeling around for his glasses. Link, still awash with guilt, placed the surviving eggs into the man’s basket and plucked up his glasses, making sure he wiped the lenses on his shirt. But just as he was about to hand them to him, Link froze, finally getting a decent look at the man.

He was a Sheikah. Link recognized the cream-colored coat, pants, and sandals he wore, as well as their trademark silvery hair pulled neatly into a bun atop his head. The man looked to be in his thirties, and sported a trimmed beard and, of course, his glasses, which he continued to search blindly for.

Through blurry vision, the Sheikah turned to Link, who sat motionless in disbelief, still holding out the glasses. A Sheikah was the last thing Link had expected to see this morning. Besides Maz Koshia, of course. Impa had never mentioned there were others outside of Kakariko.

The Sheikah man peered closer at the smudge of his glasses in Link’s hand, a smile finding his face. “Oh! Thanks — won’t go far without those,” he mused. He took them from Link, sliding them onto his nose. Now able to see clearly, he offered Link another smile that only lasted for half a second before it slackened.

The man’s brows furrowed as he inspected Link’s headgear. “...Interesting goggles you have there,” he said. Link couldn’t help from breaking into another sweat under his scrutiny. Gaze sifting through Link’s lenses, the man continued, “I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before. Where did you get those, if I may?”

Link only managed to answer with an, “Er…” before the man’s eyes wandered further. They drifted to Link’s cerulean tunic for a moment, widening some, until they landed on the Sheikah Slate on Link’s hip. The man’s face drained, his lips parting in a silent gasp.

“By the gods…! Is that…? That thing on your waist? Is that a _Sheikah Slate?!”_ he breathed.

“Y-yeah,” Link said, his hand flying to the device for some reason. It seemed to pulse with a nervous heartbeat as the man studied it with dumbfounded fascination.

The man’s breath kicked up as he gasped with excitement. “There’s no mistaking it — that’s a real Sheikah Slate, isn’t it?! I-I’ve never actually seen one in person! Wow!” He abruptly paused, his eyes glazing over. His gaze snapped back up to Link as he began, “...Er, your name wouldn’t happen to be Link, would it?”

Link blinked, taking his chin back. “That is my name, yes. And you’re... you’re a Sheikah, aren’t you?”

The man nodded. “That I am.” He leaned forward eagerly. “And you came from Kakariko?!”

Link nodded back, his brows knitting together. This was happening much too fast. How did he know all that? Link had never met him before.

The man, completely forgetting his errands, leapt to his feet and held out a hand. “Link — I’m Symin. Pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure, believe me.” Bewildered, but not wishing to be rude, Link took his hand and stood. Symin went on, a glimmer in his eye as he gripped Link’s hand and began to pull him along, “Come with me, please. We’ve been expecting you.”

“ _We?”_ Link wondered, his brain stumbling over itself.

Symin waved away his question. “I’ll explain in a minute. We need to go, right now! Never mind the shopping.” Doubling back, he scooped up his basket and motioned for Link to follow him. “I’ll finish up later. This is much more important.”

“Hold on, where are we going, exactly?” Link pressed as he fell in-stride beside Symin. He didn’t want to get side-tracked. Especially not with Bolson on the prowl. “I’m actually kind of in a hurry — I need to get to the Hateno Lab.”

Symin merely gave him a smile. “Hmm, it seems fate had us meet. Don’t worry about it. I work there. I’ll give you the grand tour myself. Let’s go!”

Link couldn’t believe his luck for once. A hopeful smile on his face, he kept pace with Symin as they hustled along the thoroughfare. All the while, Link maintained his vigilance, scouring the crowds for any sign of Maz Koshia or Bolson and the man with the pitchfork. So far, the coast was clear. But where had Maz Koshia gone to?

They had just passed the inn when Link took one final scan of the township. Still no sign of Bolson. A tad more at ease, Link brought his eyes around, only to brush his gaze upon a familiar skeletal figure tucked behind a tree in a distant backyard. The figure beckoned to him with a wave.

Link skidded to a halt, his hand finding Symin’s sleeve and pulling him to a stop as well.

“Something wrong?” Symin wondered.

Link paused, his mind suddenly racing. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. What would Symin think of Maz Koshia? Link already knew what Bolson and his employees thought of him. Link was afraid he might squander his luck and send Symin screaming, but figured he had to let him know sooner or later. There weren’t many places to hide someone like Maz Koshia.

Link’s eyes flew from the monk and to Symin, who blinked in anticipation. Fidgeting, Link lowered his voice, saying, “Erm, Symin? D-don’t panic, okay? I’m... traveling with a monk.”

“A monk?” Symin repeated, eyes clouding over slightly. “What do you…?”

Link pointed over Symin’s shoulder. Symin turned his head, a brow cocked. The pair watched Maz Koshia step out from the shade of the tree before offering them a low, polite bow.

Symin dropped his basket of his own accord this time. The last of the eggs shattered, but, much to Link’s awe, Symin couldn’t have cared any less. He merely gawped at Maz Koshia for a few solid seconds before a wild smile snuck across his lips. His eyes shone with stars.

“I’m glad I got out of bed today,” Symin squeaked. Unblinking, he turned to Link, still grinning. He waved a hand, both to Link and Maz Koshia. “Follow me! No time to waste!”

Unfortunately, while they had stopped to behold the monk, the Bolson Construction Company had pushed their way through the crowd and spotted them. Link’s ears perked when he heard a voice shout, “There he is!”

Link’s head flew in their direction. His blood flushed with panic upon seeing the group stampeding towards them. He was about to take off sprinting down the path, but Symin remained in his place, more than a little curious about what was going on. Link half-hid himself behind Symin’s shoulder, desperate to make himself scarce.

The four men came to a rough stop before Link and Symin, sweat glistening on each of their faces. Karson and Hudson huddled close to their boss, eyes flicking about, while Thadd, the man in the farmer’s hat, gave Link a troubled look from head to toe.

Meanwhile, Bolson threw his head left and right, his wild eyes scouring the area like a crazed hawk. After coming up short on his target, he whirled on Link, making him jump when he cried, “You! Squatter! Where is it?! That mummy!?”

Symin shot Link a split-second glance out of the corner of his eye. Link caught it, though he wasn’t sure how much panic he could convey through his goggles. Already sweating, Link gulped and turned back to Bolson, mustering out, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bolson stabbed a finger at him, spitting, “Don’t you lie to me! Where is it?! Where are you hiding it?! And what does it plan on doing with us?!”

Before Link could utter any more half-baked lies, Symin stepped in, shaking his head. “Excuse me… a _mummy?”_ he repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“It was with _him!”_ Bolson shoved another finger at Link. “In the old house outside of town! And it was huge! With no eyes, l-like a skeleton — ”

Bolson cut himself off when he noticed the looks Symin and Thadd were giving him. They both looked upon him as though something with rather long legs were crawling up his face.

“ _Don’t look at me like that! I’m NOT crazy!”_ Bolson blurted. “I KNOW what I saw!”

Finally, Symin scoffed, “Well, as a man of science, I can tell you that mummies don’t just get up and walk, Bolson. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be wandering around Hateno.”

Bolson froze, absolutely disgusted with Symin. His brows skyrocketed, his pupils shrinking. He slapped a hand against his chest before gesturing to his employees, crying, “But I saw it! We ALL did!” Karson and Hudson both gave hurried nods.

Symin turned to Thadd, who was tapping his foot. “Did you see anything, Thadd?” Symin asked.

The man pursed his lips and shook his head, a frustrated huff escaping his nostrils. Bolson fumed at that, his ears turning pink.

Symin returned his attention to Bolson. He laid a hand on Bolson’s shoulder, making the man twitch. Symin cooed at him, “Don’t be ridiculous, Bolson. You all work too hard. Really, you ought to take a vacation. I hear Lurelin Village is lovely this time of year.” Bolson choked on Symin’s dismissal. Symin then then concluded, picking up his basket, “Anyway, my friend and I must be going. Have a nice day!”

Turning to leave, he motioned for Link to follow. He left Bolson and his employees shell-shocked, gaping after them. Before Link could fall in-step behind Symin, he offered a feeble wave to the men before him.

“Bye,” he whimpered.

Link truly felt bad for making them seem so foolish, but all the same, the reaction Maz Koshia had gotten out of them was nothing short of incredible. He didn’t realize how much he needed something like that. It was… cathartic.

As Link turned his back on them, the group erupted in an uproar of anger and defiance. But Link didn’t dare look back. It was all he could do to keep his smile straight as Thadd shepherded the Bolson Construction Company back into town.

Well, that had gone better than expected.

Keeping a slow pace to deter suspicion, Link and Symin left the inn behind and wove their way through the outskirts of Hateno along the slowly-inclining path. The houses gradually grew few and far between, replaced instead with a terraced tapestry of fields lined with scarecrows. A scattering of people lingered about, but those that were nearby were preoccupied with chores and other errands. They didn’t give them a passing glance.

Once Link was sure they were out of earshot of Bolson, he muttered, “Thanks, Symin. I really owe you one.”

Symin shrugged it off with a smile. “My pleasure. Those three are a handful, but they’re harmless, trust me. I take it Bolson and his boys caught a glimpse of your monk, yes?”

Link nodded. “He scared them half to death back there.”

Symin chuckled. “Well, it’s a sight they’ll never forget, that’s for sure. I know _I’ll_ never forget seeing him myself.” He leaned back, his eyes glittering as he stared into the sky. “Imagine it! A _real-life_ Sheikah monk! If I could have just five minutes with him, I’d be forever in your debt. I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start!”

As if on cue, a deep voice joined the conversation. “I would be happy to indulge you.”

Link and Symin both turned toward the voice’s source. He disappeared and reappeared between the staggered apple trees lining the road, like a firefly flickering in the night. The monk strode casually, his long hair breezing behind him, his fingers clasped. Upon seeing him in his towering, ancient majesty, Symin stopped in the middle of the path, awe-stricken.

“Oh, wow,” he whispered.

Link and Maz Koshia followed his suit, stopping. As the monk gave Symin another bow of greeting, Link couldn’t help but find himself smiling at Symin’s reverence towards him. It only served to remind him of just how astronomical it was that Maz Koshia was even there. Walking. Breathing. A figure from an era far beyond either of their existences; a wellspring of history, guidance, and intelligence standing before them. It was extraordinary.

Link almost felt as though he had to make introductions. He strode a few steps towards the monk and extended an arm, presenting him to Symin.

“Symin, this is Maz Koshia,” Link said.

Symin hurried over, returning the monk’s bow with a deep bow of his own. “I am humbled to be in your presence, Maz Koshia,” he breathed.

Maz Koshia chuckled softly. “As am I to you.” Symin’s spine visibly shuddered as Maz Koshia spoke. He listened intently as the monk continued, “It pleases me to see our heritage alive and thriving in these latter days.” Symin then gave a sharp gasp when the monk reached out and laid a bony hand on his shoulder, continuing warmly, “Thank you ever so much for keeping the flame of the Sheikah burning bright, Symin.”

When Symin straightened, his eyes were swimming behind his glasses. His breath shook as he replied, “Y-y-you’re welcome.” He lowered his gaze into his sandals. “S-sometimes… I don’t even know if this is all worth it, but… hearing that… from _you…!”_ He gave another bow. “Thank you.”

“You are most certainly welcome,” the monk replied warmly. He gestured to the path zigzagging up the steep hill before them. “Now, I will be happy to answer any questions you may have as we walk. In exchange, however, I require your help.”

Symin’s eyes bulged. “A-anything you need! Just name it!”

“Thank you,” Maz Koshia chuckled, smiling. “I understand you work at the lab. I will need to borrow some of your equipment, if possible.” He turned to Link, choosing his words carefully. “Link and I have journeyed here to… run a few examinations. Would that be all right, Symin?”

Link’s stomach chilled at Maz Koshia’s explanation. He was eager to have some tests run, to finally find some answers, but even so, he dreaded what they’d find. Still, it needed to be done. He couldn’t bear to be in the dark about his own fate any longer. Link merely swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and gave a small nod.

Symin’s eyes hit Link, then. They darted up and down his body, almost as if he were scanning him, dissecting him. Link shifted under his sharpened gaze. Not only had it sharpened, but it had also… darkened. As if he knew something. Something _wrong._ Something that made his jaw grind.

Ultimately, Symin complied reverently with, “Of course. We have everything you need.”

“Excellent. Shall we?” Maz Koshia said brightly.

“Right this way,” Symin said with a smile.

Now with more fervent purpose in their steps, the trio set off up the hill. Link and Symin remained on the path while Maz Koshia followed from the cover of the trees. As they walked, the two Sheikah filled the morning air with excited chatter — Symin rapid-fired questions off to Maz Koshia, the monk responding with his answer. In the roughly twenty-minute hike to the lab, they discussed everything from photography to horticulture to Guardian operating systems and everything in-between.

It was all a bit too much for Link to process. He followed as much as he could, but for some reason, his ears were buzzing and his breath was shallow. His stomach churned with nausea as he walked, his hand gripping the Sheikah Slate in a death-grip; it throbbed with its own heartbeat. But while cooped up inside his own head, he didn’t notice his discomfort for the majority of the walk.

When the final house on the hillside had fallen behind them, Maz Koshia emerged from the trees and joined them on the path. The monk had noticed Link’s silence; he stepped in-stride beside him, laying a gentle palm on his shoulder. Link jumped slightly, glancing up to him. He caught a glimpse beneath the monk’s veil — a small smile upturned the corner of his mouth, reassuring him. Somehow, Link’s hold on the Slate loosened.

Meanwhile, Symin took no notice. Like Link, he shrank in the monk’s imposing height, but nevertheless feasted his eyes on every square inch of him that he could, as if burning him into his memory. His weathered skin, his silvery hair, his veil, his chunky gold necklace. Symin just couldn’t get enough. Even through his inspection of the monk, he never stopped talking — and Maz Koshia never stopped answering.

Before long, the tower Link had seen from the village came into view at the crest of the hill. It had once been only a windmill, but since transformed into a sentinel for the strange amalgamation of technology and building it was attached to. A ramshackle staircase spiraled around its tower, trailing up from the roof of a house. The roof sagged beneath the weight of a tremendous telescope of Sheikah design, aimed inland. A Sheikah sigil painted on the front door greeted them, and a bizarre, bulbous stone structure stood nearby, also of Sheikah design. Next to it, a sign read in angry red letters: ANCIENT FURNACE. VERY HOT! DON’T TOUCH! However, this furnace was cold, its receptacle empty.

Link blinked at the sight of the lab. It wasn’t entirely what he was expecting, but then again, he wasn’t sure what form Sheikah technology would take next. It was as fascinating as it was confusing. He ran his eyes over the lab, wondering what awaited him inside. Surely, there had to be other people there? Symin had mentioned a _we._

Maz Koshia strode with determination as they approached, eager to go in, but Symin slowed them down when they reached the doorstep. He held up a hand, proposing, “Wait here a moment. I need to… er… prepare her.” Doing as he said, Maz Koshia and Link stood in their places as Symin opened the door and slipped inside, keeping the door ajar.

“Purah!?” he shouted, his voice a tad on the unsure side. “I’m — I’m back!”

Symin partially blocked the view into the lab, obscuring the owner of the voice that responded to him. It was young, sweet, full of energy. It almost reminded Link of little Cottla back in Kakariko. The girl’s response was accompanied by the clattering of pots and pans.

“Already?! Great! I’ve got a big surprise!” the girl, who Link registered as Purah, cried.

A grin spread across Symin’s face. He turned his head back slightly to glance at Link and Maz Koshia on his doorstep. “Er… I do too!” he replied.

“Ooh, I bet _my_ surprise is _bigger!”_ Purah cheered.

Symin bit back a giggle. “We’ll, uh, see about that. Y-you go first.”

“Okay, well, remember that uber fancy coffee we tried at the inn?”

“I remember,” Symin replied, nodding. “It helped me through a few projects.”

“Great stuff, right?! They got it all the way from Faron! Well, see, I ground and drank the last of the samples they gave us — Sorry! Had to! — so I had more special ordered. It _finally_ came just barely! By Rito postman, no less.” She giggled, pausing. Link thought he heard a bag of something rattle. “Mmm, smell that! Honestly, what could be better than that, Symin? Huh? _Huh?”_

Symin gestured for Link and Maz Koshia to enter the lab, stepping aside for them. The two of them exchanged a brief glance before stepping inside, the monk allowing Link to enter first. Again, Maz Koshia had to duck to clear the doorway.

They entered a rather cramped, single-room laboratory. The room itself was spacious, but the small army of bookshelves and tables crowding the floor, along with the low candlelight, seemed to make the walls shrink in. An ocean of papers littered the floorboards, each one crammed with drawings and writing. On a small raised stage to their left, a familiar pedestal jutted — identical to the one Link had plucked the Sheikah Slate from. Above the pedestal, a thick stone stalactite dripped from the ceiling. Hanging above the clutter were the warm and toasted aromas of candle wax and coffee beans.

Link took a quick survey of the room before his eyes were drawn to the large table at the lab’s heart, where a girl waited.

She had to be Purah. She couldn’t have been more than six years old. Like Symin, she too was a Sheikah, dressed in an oversized ivory coat she had fashioned into a skirt to fit her tiny frame. Her snowy hair sat atop her head in a decorative bow secured with chopsticks and a pair of goggles. Link squinted at them, noting how similar they were to his own. Practically… identical. Amber in color. Turquoise lenses. They appeared to be only an accessory, as she wore a pair of large, cherry-red, rounded glasses.

What struck Link the most about her were her eyes, however. The other Sheikah he had met had all had dark eyes. But hers were anything but. They were a striking shade of scarlet.

When they walked in, they found Purah stood on a stool to reach a mortar and pestle on the tabletop. She was about to set down a burlap bag filled with glittery black coffee beans when she turned to face Link, Symin, and Maz Koshia.

As her eyes went wide to take them in, Symin beamed, presenting them to her, “How about a champion and a monk?”

“Hello,” Link and Maz Koshia said in unison.

And that was when the bag of beans hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! Things went much more smoothly for Link in Hateno. It looks like he has some allies, now - which he desperately needs. I hope you enjoy this next bit with Symin and Purah. They're a joy to write and I've had way too much fun with them. I also had way too much fun with Maz Koshia scaring the daylights out of Bolson and his boys. I've got nothing against Bolson, but consider this chapter some payback for squatting on my lawn!!  
> Throughout the story, you'll see some quests woven into each chapter. :) I definitely want to include Tarrey Town here, but seeing as Link might have burned a bridge with Bolson, I might have to improvise. But that'll come later.  
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed. :) Thank you so much for reading! Like what you're seeing? Feel free to shoot me a comment, make a suggestion, or brainstorm with me! I love reading your feedback and welcome any and all of it. :)   
> Thanks again, and see you next chapter!


	15. Patient Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, friends! Welcome to another chapter of Corrupted Hero. I'm overjoyed by the positive responses I got from last chapter. It was a fun one, and I loved putting it together. :) Thanks for reading! As for this next chapter, we'll see where our meetings with Symin and Purah will take us. I will say, this chapter was intriguing to write. I hope you find it as interesting as I did. Enjoy!

Before Link had time to prepare himself for what was coming, Purah gave a shrill squeal.

Link, Maz Koshia, and Symin all jumped. For a moment, Link’s heart sank. Already, a wave of guilt was washing over him for scaring yet another little girl — and she hadn’t even seen his face yet. But in the split-second he had to analyze her wide-eyed, sparkling expression, a novel realization hit him: Purah’s squeal wasn’t one of fear. It was one of _pure_ , _unadulterated_ _glee._

Without warning, Purah flew from her stool and bounded towards them. Even with her tiny legs, she crossed the distance in a few seconds flat, crowding before Link’s boots. He backed away a little out of habit; he wasn’t used to such a warm — if not a bit chaotic — reception.

But Purah didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in her delight. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh,” she gasped, flapping her hands as she beheld Link and Maz Koshia. “Tell me this isn’t happening, Symin! Tell me _these two_ aren’t here right now!”

Symin grinned. “Oh, it’s happening. I told myself the same thing.”

Another squeal from Purah. “Eeeeeee! This is the best day of my life! Forget that stupid coffee!” She threw her attention upon Link, crying, “Aren’t _you_ a sight for sore eyes?! C’mere, Linky!”

“Linky — ?!” Link repeated, his eyes bulging.

He didn’t get the chance to finish his thought before Purah jumped up and grabbed two fistfuls of his tunic, tugging him to his knees. He blinked rapidly, agape as she proceeded to lay her hands all over him — caressing his tunic and hood, smoothing his scarf and poking at his goggles. Her eyes lingered on the Sheikah Slate on his hip for a fraction of a second before she continued to drink in every inch of him she could.

“Here you are after all these years! I can’t believe it! Kept us waiting long enough, huh?” she said brightly.

“Er — ” Link stammered.

“I’m kidding, silly!” she giggled. “You took all the time you needed to heal up, I can understand that.” She continued to scour him while he merely knelt, stunned. “Man, I’ve missed this color!” she moaned, admiring his tunic. “Nobody can get it this particular shade nowadays. Oh, it’s _beautiful.”_ She then turned her gaze upon his goggles, rolling her eyes. “So THAT’S where these were! Impa told me she packed all of them! That sneaky old thing!”

Link could only stare. Their meeting was rushing by in such a whirlwind that he couldn’t keep up, and nothing she was saying made any sense. Kept her waiting? What did she mean, _nowadays?_ And his goggles were… hers? Not only that, but Purah spoke much more eloquently than the average child; the notion agitated Link’s brain, but he couldn’t put a finger on why that was strange as he struggled to process her barrage of comments.

But he somehow managed to get a few words out at the mention of Impa, stammering, “Wait, you know Impa?!”

Purah’s eyes twinkled. “‘Course I do! She’s my little sister! Duh!”

Link took his chin back, his curiosity skyrocketing. How was that even possible?! But before he could form the question, Purah abruptly changed the subject, her gaze flicking to Maz Koshia. He stood above them, grinning from ear to ear.

Purah held a finger up to Link, saying, “Hold that thought, ‘kay?” before she scampered over to the monk.

And just like that, she was gone, as quickly as she came on. Link froze where he knelt, his brain grinding with confusion. What had just happened?! He glanced over to Symin, stood nearby with his arms folded. The Sheikah shook his head, a calm smile spreading his lips.

Symin seemed to read Link’s flabbergasted thoughts, murmuring to him, “Just… give her a minute. This is the most excitement she’s had in decades.”

Link blinked, repeating, “ _Decades?”_

He couldn’t believe his ears. Purah couldn’t have been more than six years old; she hadn’t been _alive_ for even _one_ decade. Had Symin misspoke? Again, the thought lingered in Link’s mind, but it was quickly pushed aside as he and Symin watched the girl greet Maz Koshia.

The monk had descended to his knees as well, and held out a finger to receive Purah’s small hands in a handshake. She was beaming at him, devouring his presence with her eyes as well.

She gave a shaky gasp at his touch. “Oh, wow…! I can’t tell you what an honor this is!” she trilled. “A Sheikah monk — _in the_ _flesh!_ In _my_ lab! Oh, I’m so buzzing! I have so much to ask you, so much I want to learn. This is… this is…!” she drifted off, so starstruck she could barely find her words.

“...An opportunity of a lifetime?” Maz Koshia finished. Purah nodded briskly, her hair bouncing. The monk chuckled, continuing, “It is for me as well. Like Symin, you have lovingly carried the torch of the Sheikah legacy, and I commend your efforts, Purah.” She almost melted at his mention of her name. He pressed his palms together prayerfully, offering her a grateful bow.

She returned it, a bout of girlish giggling bubbling out of her. “Aahhh! I can’t believe this is really happening! This — is — _amazing!”_ Clapping her hands together, she looked to Symin, adding, “Where on earth did you find these two?!”

Symin gestured to Link, smiling. “Link and I, er, ran into each other in the market. They were traveling together.” Holding up his basket, he sheepishly added, “Didn’t get a chance to finish the shopping, unfortunately.”

Purah waved it off. “Pfft! Who cares? We’ve got these two instead! Talk about a package deal.” She then gave Link a wink, quipping, “So, it appears that hundred-year nap of yours made you a klutz, huh? Not as quick on your feet as you used to be?” With another giggle, she removed a miniature notebook from her coat and scribbled something down in it. “Interesting…”

Though Link’s initial confusion still hung over him, her words suddenly snapped him out of his stupor. Something wasn’t adding up. He had to know what was going on before his brain was twisted into any more knots.

Straightening, he blurted out, “Hold on, back up…” It went quiet for a moment as everyone focused on him. He held up his hands and gathered his thoughts. “You drink coffee, you know my name, you know where I’ve been… you’re Impa’s _older_ _sister?_ H-how? I’m… very confused,” he sighed, shoulders slumping.

There was a brief pause. Finally, Purah pinched her eyes shut and she gave her head a quick shake. “Oh, geez, where are my manners? Here you are, totally amnesiac, and I’m talking your ear off. Typical me.”

Link gave another start where he knelt. She knew that, too? What else did she know about him? He was almost afraid to find out.

But thankfully for his spiraling confusion, Purah came to herself. She adjusted her glasses, saying, “Sorry, I just got so excited that you two rolled through my door. Let’s start from the top, shall we?” She clicked her heels together and struck a dainty pose. “Ahem. Welcome! I’m Purah, Director of the Hateno Ancient Tech Lab. You, sir, are Link, Hylian Champion. That much you should know, yeah?”

Link gave a weak nod. “Y-yeah.”

“Love it!” Purah trilled. She then looked to Maz Koshia, wondering, “And you are?”

The monk made himself comfortable on the floor. He had a feeling this might take some time. “I am Maz Koshia, Director.”

She blushed. “Pleased to meet you. And you both know Symin, my assistant, so that clears that up.” Symin gave a nod of agreement. Purah continued, proposing to Link, “How we doin’ so far? You lost yet?”

Link cocked his head, already breathless. He still couldn’t fathom how she knew so much about him, but he figured she would explain it. No, he _prayed_ she would. He might end up with a headache otherwise.

“Not… so far, but, did you just say _Director?”_ Link gaped.

Purah gave a little hop and made a gesture with her hands: curling her middle and ring fingers down and extending the others in a sort of tri-horned symbol. “Check it, baby!” she cheered. “You’re looking at the Director of this fine establishment and the world’s foremost authority on ancient relics. Not to toot my own horn, but with over a century of studying under my belt, there’s not a person alive who knows more than me.” She pursed her lips, her eyes drifting to Maz Koshia. “Well, apart from him, of course.”

Maz Koshia chuckled.

Sadly, Purah’s elaborating wasn’t helping. Link was more confused than ever; her words just weren’t possible. His gaze wandered to the books spilling off of the shelves before he ran his eyes from Purah’s topknot down to her feet.

“But… you’re so young,” he gasped, before quickly adding, “I-I mean, no offense!”

Purah bobbed her head knowingly. “None taken, but looks can be deceiving. You of all people should know that, Link.”

The glint in her eye as she said that… it made Link’s heart flutter. There was an intelligence in her gaze that exceeded his own comprehension. Just how much did this little girl know? He would soon find out.

“...How do you mean?” Link asked, his curiosity, rather than his confusion, goading his questions.

Eager to weave her tale, Purah began, gesturing to herself, “Well, I may not look it, but I’ve lived a long, long time, just like you. We used to work together once upon a time, alongside Princess Zelda.”

Link straightened, his heart skipping a beat for some reason. “Y-you knew Zelda?”

Purah smiled, her mind taking her back. “We knew each other, yes. She and I were study buddies, and _you_ were always on guard nearby, though, I doubt you remember it.”

A glimmer of light had briefly shone in Link’s mind at the mention of Zelda, but it quickly faded. Try as he might, he couldn’t scrounge up any memory of Purah’s stories, nor any faces to go with them. But he wanted to — so, desperately he wanted to. It almost hurt.

His shoulders sagged. “No… not at all,” he mourned.

Purah shrugged, her expression sombering slightly. “Figured as much. All the same, me, you, the Princess, my sister Impa, and a few others were some of the lucky few to survive The Great Calamity.” Link choked at that. She continued, “I was in my early twenties back then. In fact, if we stopped to crunch the numbers, you’d find that I’m even older than _you_ are. Give or take a hundred years.”

Looking to lighten the mood a bit, she struck another pose, musing, “Look pretty good for my age, don’t I?”

Symin’s palm hit his forehead with an audible _slap_. “First time you’ve used that one…” he groaned.

Purah winked and stuck her tongue out at him. She returned her gaze to Link when he proceeded to stutter, “But th-that’s impossible! You’re… a child! How could you even...?!”

She shrugged again. “Well, you’ve seen Impa, right? She’s a few years younger than I am. Heck, even look at Maz Koshia, here.” Link did so, the monk nodding to him. “It’s not _impossible_ to live this long, it’s just a little… difficult on the body to do naturally. Like Impa did. _Some_ of us had a little help. Yourself included.”

Strange. Link had never thought about it like that. It rarely crossed his mind, but he _was_ over a century old. It suddenly made him feel more wise. Not as wise as Purah or Maz Koshia, but wise nonetheless.

Marveling at the reality of her words, Link mused, “I suppose that makes sense. But how did _you_ do it? I had the Shrine, but you…?”

Maz Koshia leaned forward and tapped his chin. “Let me guess… An experiment that didn’t quite go to plan?”

Purah fired a finger at him. “Snap, you’re good! Yeah, I was getting on in years and was more than determined to live to see you come back to us,” she said, gesturing to Link. “I made a promise that I would finish what we started. I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up, and I wasn’t getting any younger, so I did some tinkering with an experimental Rune in hopes of turning back the clock a bit.”

Link wasn’t entirely sure what a Rune was, but he still listened intently. Maz Koshia did as well, nodding slowly.

Purah continued, “Originally, I shaved off a few decades, but my Rune ended up working _too_ well.” She sighed. “In a matter of weeks, I’d de-aged more than a century. It was actually kind of impressive, but still, I’m stuck looking like this.” She shuffled a tiny foot. “Thankfully it stopped before Symin had to change any diapers.”

“Thank Hylia for that,” Symin mumbled. “I still would have done it for you, though.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, you would have. That’s why you’re my assistant. I promise I’ll give you a raise if we ever get some funding around here.”

They both gave wistful sighs, glancing at the state of the place. In that moment, a shelf on the wall, burdened with books, gave up and dumped a mountain of research onto the floor. They all stared for a moment at it, conversation faltering.

“Aaaaanyway!” Purah interjected, making them all jump. She looked to Link, placing her hands on her hips. “I think I’ve run my mouth long enough. If you have more questions, feel free to ask me later, but let’s get down to brass tacks, yeah? I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time, Link.” She added with a wink, “You’re fashionably late, but I’ll take it. Welcome back — officially.”

Link sighed, giving a small shrug. “Sorry it took me so long. But I’m here now, and… I...” His words faltered as he remembered the reason he had come. He snuck a glance to Maz Koshia, who stiffened. The monk urged him on with a nod. Pausing, Link finally managed to say, “I need your help, Purah.”

She gestured around the lab. “Well, we’ve got some of the most advanced tech this side of the apocalypse. I’ll bet you’re raring to dive into Hyrule Castle and give Ganon the ol’ one-two, right? That’s my Linky!”

A shiver bolted down Link’s spine at the mention of Ganon’s name. His hands involuntarily balled up into fists as he pictured his bones glowing beneath his skin. “More than ever,” he said lowly. “You have no idea. But there’s something I need to take care of, first…”

“That’s what we’re here for. Anything you need, we can help with. Just say the word,” Purah stated.

Her words were reassuring, but all the same, Link wasn’t eager to put them to use. And Symin’s following question didn’t help matters.

Symin shifted where he stood, proposing, “Examinations, wasn’t it?”

Link’s stomach rolled at the mention of it, and he winced. He didn’t respond.

Meanwhile, Purah’s brows rose. “Examinations? What for? Are you sick, or something?”

Link wasn’t sure how to phrase it without scaring them. As much as Purah knew about him, he highly doubted that she knew about _this._ Not even Maz Koshia had known. As Link’s heart began to race, he couldn’t quite think up what to say before Maz Koshia laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Link, flinching, looked to the monk as he gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Carefully, the monk eased the two of them to their feet.

With a calm exhale, Maz Koshia said to Symin and Purah, “Perhaps you should see for yourselves. I think you ought to be seated for this.” He looked to the table at the heart of the lab, where a few stools sat.

Symin and Purah exchanged a glance, both falling quiet. In silence, Maz Koshia led them all to the table, sitting Link down in one stool while Purah climbed onto another across from him. Symin lingered near her while Maz Koshia stood beside Link, a hand still on his shoulder. For a few stiff moments, nobody moved or said anything. Link found himself so horridly nauseous that he merely tangled his fingers into his trousers, his jaw glued shut.

Finally, Maz Koshia said reverently, “Link, you will need to remove your hood and goggles for my examination.”

Link gave a robotic nod. It was now or never. He slowly loosened his grip on his trousers, reaching toward his scarf and goggles.

As he did so, Purah squinted suspiciously. “What’s this about, guys?”

Link paused. He glanced up at Maz Koshia, who hung his head, unsure of how to reply. The monk murmured a weak, “Erm…”

“...You won’t like what you see,” Link eventually said.

A light caught Purah’s scarlet eyes, and she smirked almost invisibly. She leaned towards Link. “Try me.”

Link blinked at her confidence. Not even Maz Koshia had reacted like this before Link revealed his face to him. He just prayed that bravery would last. Though his every waking thought screamed at him not to do it, Link pushed back his hood and slipped his scarf and goggles off of his face.

The inevitable gasp from Purah and Symin reared itself, the sound once again stabbing at Link’s resolve. His face twitched at their gaping expressions. He knew he would never get used to the fear he instilled in others at their first face-to-face meeting.

But to his utter disbelief, that was all that Purah and Symin’s shock came to: a small gasp. Nothing more.

They both leaned towards him — not away from him — their eyes shimmering with fascination. Link leaned back, amazed by their unorthodox reaction.

“Oh my Goddess, he’s even better in person…!” Purah gasped. Without breaking eye contact with Link, she snapped her fingers and urged Symin, “Take notes. Take all the notes.”

Symin scooped up a notepad and pencil from the table, turning to a fresh page. “Yes, ma’am.” He began running his eyes along Link’s face with verve, jotting down every detail.

Link suddenly found himself struggling beneath the tremendous weight of his own bafflement. He’d had quite a variety of reactions to his appearance, but nothing like this. Purah and Symin beheld him with the tenacity of scholars, as though he were a new research project to dive into — not a monster to be feared. The reality of that was world-shattering for him.

He had gone so numb he’d forgotten to breathe. “You’re not afraid...?” Link gasped.

“Why would we be?” Symin replied, his eyes alight. “You’re quite the specimen, Link!”

“B-but I’ve scared everyone I’ve met so far. _Everyone,”_ Link said, blinking rapidly. “Why not you? I don’t understand.”

Purah reached into her pocket and slipped something out of it. She gave Link a tender smile and held whatever-it-was out to him.

“Well… we _did_ have a bit of a heads-up,” she said.

Link stared at what she held. It was an open envelope. A few sheets of paper peeked out of it. Maz Koshia leaned in over Link’s shoulder as Link took it and removed the papers, smoothing them out and running his eyes over a handwritten letter.

_My dearest Purah,_

_I hope you are well._

_I am writing you to deliver a message. The day we have anticipated for one hundred years has come. Link has risen from the Shrine of Resurrection and is on his way to you. He has been with us for the past few weeks. As you predicted, he does not remember his past. I have given him some mementos to jog his memory, but perhaps you can help him further?_

_A word of warning: that foul beast Calamity Ganon has changed him. Please see the attached sketch. A friend of ours made it while he was staying with us. Please do not be alarmed when you see Link’s face. He means you no harm. He is still our knight, no matter what he looks like._

_I hope you can examine him and possibly purge this darkness from him. Please let me know your findings._

_May the Goddess smile upon you all._

_All my love,_

_Impa_

A familiar warmth filled Link’s chest as he read Impa’s letter. Even as far away as she was, she was still looking after him. When he finished reading, he immediately snatched up the other page and came to face a collection of rough charcoal sketches of himself. They captured him in his corrupted state from a variety of angles, showcasing his dark skin, his horns, his third eye. During his stay in Kakariko, he hadn’t noticed that he was the object of someone’s creativity; he briefly wondered who had been sketching him.

“The drawings didn’t do you any justice,” Purah remarked, pulling Link’s gaze to her. The intrigue in her eyes would have been flattering if Link wasn’t so rattled. “I’ve never seen anything like this — ever. It’s _insane.”_

A weathered hand slid the sketches out from Link’s grasp. “Likewise,” Maz Koshia concurred, his voice grim as he viewed the drawings. Everyone turned to their gazes on him. “In all my years, I have seen Ganon enact countless wicked combinations, each more vile than the last. But this...” he drifted off, eyeing Link, who swallowed anxiously. “This is an entirely new breed of cunning. And I intend to know how and why this was wrought.”

“Us, too,” Purah agreed, standing on her stool. “It was almost painful playing dumb back there. We’ve been eager to start analyzing you since we got that letter. I think we ought to get started right away.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the monk replied. “Symin mentioned you had the necessary tools?”

“We’re not as equipped as The Shrine of Resurrection, but we’re the next best thing,” Purah replied, nodding alongside her assistant. “We ran full physicals during my little experiment, so we have everything we need.”

“Excellent.” Maz Koshia folded up the sketches and turned to Link. “So, what say you, hero?”

Link fidgeted as they went back and forth. The familiar warmth from Impa’s letter smoldered inside of him, transforming into a sickening heat. It only worsened when they all looked at him expectantly. Part of him wanted nothing more than to submit to their examinations, but the other was petrified at the notion. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever they found.

But he had to know. He had been in the dark long enough.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Link pinched his eyes shut and spat out, “Let’s do it. Right now. I-I can’t wait any longer.”

His companions didn’t need telling twice. “I’ll grab the venipuncture kit,” Purah said quickly, leaping off her stool.

“Where do you keep your surgical tools?” Maz Koshia asked, wandering to a cabinet.

“ _Oh,_ _Goddess_ _,”_ Link groaned under his breath. He swallowed a bitter mouthful of dread. What had he just agreed to?

But just as Purah and Maz Koshia were mid-stride, Symin stopped them. “Wait, could we at least treat you to breakfast first?”

Purah turned on him, her brows scrunched together. “With what food?”

Symin winced. “Oh, right…”

Maz Koshia shook his head, dismissing, “It would probably be best if Link was tested on an empty stomach. The less interference the better. But we would be honored to dine with you after the examination, Symin.”

“Of course.”

“Check it, here we go!” Purah announced with a clap of her hands. “First things first, people, we need to get the power back on. I can’t believe we’ve let it go for this long… That Guidance Stone won’t work without it.” She turned to her assistant, requesting, “Symin! Can I trust you to get the furnace lit?”

Symin hesitated. After a moment of thought, he eventually strode to the raised stage and cautiously took up a wooden torch that lay beside it. “I’ll try not to burn myself this time,” he muttered.

“Great! Godspeed! And make it snappy!” Purah cheered. As Symin darted out the front door, she then turned to Link, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Okay, this is going to sound weird coming from me, but I’ll need you to take off your clothes, Link.”

His cheeks flushed. “E-excuse me?!”

Purah’s face turned a subtle rosy-red as she repeated herself. “You heard me. Take your clothes off. And don’t be so modest — I _have_ seen you naked, before. I was the one who put you into the shorts you woke up in, after all.”

Link stiffened up, another swell of heat burning through him. He didn’t know what to make of that information. He suddenly felt exposed, even fully clothed as he was.

Noting his hesitation, Maz Koshia offered him a sympathetic shrug. “Your shorts should be fine to keep on if you’d like. Hurry, now. We mustn’t delay.”

Link ceded to their demands, albeit against his sense of decency — particularly in Purah’s presence. Still, he supposed that she was his elder, despite her appearance. That would take some getting used to. Even so, he kept his head down to hide his flushed maroon cheeks as he slipped off his boots and unbuckled his pants.

While he stripped, Purah and Maz Koshia dug through the lab, unearthing a variety of equipment and bringing everything to the center table. Purah procured what looked to be a spyglass attached to a segmented robotic arm, all mounted on a solid stone base. She set out a box rattling with thin glass vials beside it. Meanwhile, Maz Koshia filled a tray with a multitude of stone hand tools; some sharp, some blunt, along with a few pairs of forceps, bandages, a rag, and a glass bottle sloshing with a coppery fluid.

Goosebumps erupted on Link’s skin as he watched them lay everything out on the table. He stood stiffly, now totally naked apart from his shorts. All of his clothes and belongings sat nearby, except for the Sheikah Slate, which he clung to. It gave him some semblance of comfort as he awaited his examination.

Once the operating table was set, Maz Koshia and Purah turned to Link. For what felt like an eternity, they stared at his raw, corrupted splendor, able to perfectly view his subtly-glowing skeleton. Almost as if in a trance, Maz Koshia approached him, knelt, and reached out, laying his fingertips on Link’s clavicle before running them down his sternum. Link shuddered. It was like being caressed by sandpaper.

“Extraordinary...” the monk marveled in a whisper. “Absolutely extraordinary…”

Link’s lips firmed into a line, his gaze falling to his feet. “If you say so,” he murmured.

Without another word, Maz Koshia led Link to a stool and sat him down. The monk pulled up another stool and sat across from him, continuing his reverent study of his body while he scribbled down his thoughts in a spare journal. Link snuck a glance at his writing: all in ancient Sheikah, geometric dots and spirals. Though he could read it regardless, he chose not to.

Purah hovered nearby, running her eyes over Link in the meantime. She lit up when the monk, still studying Link, requested, “Prep him for a blood sample, please, Director? Draw around three vials.”

“Yes, sir!” Purah trilled, elated to be assisting him. She proceeded to use a stack of books as a footstool to hoist herself onto the table. Once there, she positioned her odd venipuncture machine near Link and plugged three vials into the ports on its side. She smiled at him, posing, “Arm, please.”

He followed her orders and extended it on the table. Leaning in close, she tapped at the crook of his arm and moved the spyglass over it, peering through the lens. Satisfied, she then powered on the device. Looking through the barrel one final time, she pressed it firmly onto Link’s arm.

“Hold still, okay?” she instructed. “This’ll give you a bit of a poke.”

“All right,” Link wheezed.

He was about to watch the machine work on him when he felt rough fingers take his jaw and drag his head forward. Link flinched, but didn’t fight Maz Koshia’s grip. Like a doctor examining his patient, Maz Koshia gently turned Link’s head in all directions, running his eyes along the jagged line of his incisors, to the amber glow of his eyes, before inspecting his short horns. He added more to his notes.

Link nearly jumped out of his chair when the venipuncture device suddenly jabbed a needle into his skin. “Ow!” he cried, jerking his head over.

“Told ya,” Purah shrugged. “Give it a sec.”

Maz Koshia paused and joined Link and Purah in watching the machine siphon blood out of Link. It wasn’t the color or consistency any of them were expecting. It was jet black, thick like paint, and dotted with brightly-glowing magenta flecks. It seemed to boil as it slowly filled up each vial.

They could only stare, faces frozen, for a few seconds before Maz Koshia brought them out of their dazes. “Let’s get those analyzed,” he said swiftly, scrawling several lines into his notes. “As soon as the Guidance Stone is online, plug them in and get them working.”

Purah’s cheeks had drained slightly. She removed the vials from the machine, corked them, and set them carefully in a small tray. “You got it. Symin should be back any minute.”

As she set off toward the raised stage nearby to get her tools ready, the monk set down his pencil and freed Link’s arm from the venipuncture machine. He pressed a bandage into the small hole that bubbled on his skin. “All right, Link, onto the next bit. I’ll need to collect some tissue and bone samples from you.”

Link’s heart skipped a beat. That didn’t sound pleasant. “O-okay?”

Maz Koshia guided Link’s hand to press onto his bandage. “Hold this here and stay where you are. I’ll have you lay on the floor later. For now, try to relax.”

Maz Koshia took up a few more vials, the bottle, the rag, and his tray of tools. He then wet the rag with the coppery liquid and dabbed at Link’s abdomen, just below his ribcage. It must have been some sort of numbing agent, as Link’s skin began to tingle.

The monk paused upon drawing back the rag. Squinting, he looked closer at Link’s abdomen, stopping to run a finger along his skin. “Odd…” he murmured.

“What? What is it?” Link asked, growing worried for a moment.

He looked down to catch a glance at what Maz Koshia was inspecting. It was faint, but he could make it out: a long, silver scar, shaped like a three-pronged pitchfork, extending from the middle of his ribcage down to his pelvis.

Maz Koshia stared at it for a while. “I wonder what gave you this? It’s… rather distinctive,” he pondered.

Link’s mouth soured for some reason. He gave a hopeless shrug. “I couldn’t tell you.”

Making note of it, the monk ultimately shrugged it off. He laid his toolset onto his lap. Link, remembering what was coming, leaned back, breathing deeply. He couldn’t bear to look as Maz Koshia grabbed some forceps and a small knife, leaning towards him.

“Try not to move. This will only take a second…” the monk breathed.

Link grimaced only slightly when the knife split his skin and the forceps were slid into the incision, rummaging around before pulling out a ragged strip of body tissue. The moment the sample was out, Maz Koshia grabbed another tool and pressed it into Link’s wound with a disquieting sizzle of his flesh.

Link sucked in a gasp and jolted — he’d felt that one. It was hot, like a branding iron. His gaze flew to the tool: a white-hot crystal with a handle grafted to the bottom. Link grit his teeth as Maz Koshia held the tool against him before rapidly retracting it. He then pressed another bandage to his pearly, singed skin. Amazingly, the wound had sealed shut with minimal bleeding.

“Are you all right?” the monk asked, his voice tender.

Link nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good,” the monk replied, slipping the sample into a vial and sealing it. He patted Link’s knee. “I need to make two more extractions. Marrow and bone. Hang in there, you’re doing well.”

Maz Koshia proceeded to repeat his procedure twice. For the second iteration, he once again numbed the operating area and made a small cut into Link’s previously-injured knee, extracting a gelatinous magenta marrow from his kneecap. Upon cauterizing that, he instructed Link to stretch out on his front on the floor. Link did so, lying with his hands clenched around the Sheikah Slate. Maz Koshia crouched over him, numbed him, and made another incision at the base of his spine. Inserting his forceps, he struck the forceps with the heel of his hand and chipped off a minute piece of his vertebra, setting it aside in a vial. Link gave a slight grunt at that one. Sealing the wound, the monk then bandaged him up and helped him into a chair.

Already, Link’s incisions were slightly sore. He held a hand to the bandage on his back, his face twisted with discomfort. That hadn’t been as traumatic as he was envisioning, but still, it hadn’t been pleasant. At least it was over, now.

Maz Koshia laid a palm on his shoulder, worrying, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Link glanced at the three biopsies on the table. “What were all these for?”

Purah came around as Maz Koshia explained, “I wanted to run some molecular tests, to see how deep this… infection runs. Once the power is back on, we’ll place them into the analytical instruments and see what we’re dealing with.” Pausing, the monk took a quick glance around the lab. Whatever he was looking for, he came up short.

The monk turned to Purah. “Director, where is your Constellation Display?”

Link had no earthly idea what he was talking about, but Purah did. She sighed, huffing. “Would you believe an earthquake knocked it down? About a month ago the whole place started shaking; when it fell, it almost crushed Symin. The whole thing shattered and we had no choice but to throw it out.”

Maz Koshia frowned. “Unfortunate. How are we going to view the lab results without one?”

Purah’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “Oh my gosh! I haven’t shown you yet, have I?!” She left Link and Maz Koshia puzzled when she darted off to a cabinet, pulling something out. When she returned, she shoved her prize into their faces, beaming, “Behold, my magnum opus!”

They both gawked. It was another Sheikah Slate, or rather, a very convincing imitation. But it was more compact, square in shape, rather than rectangular. It glowed an inviting blue hue between its decorative handles, which it had two of, making it easier for Purah to grip.

Purah sang, “I give you — this is genius — the Slate Lite!”

Link jumped when a sudden buzzing sensation struck his hip. His Sheikah Slate had purred, almost in intrigue when Purah announced the Slate Lite. His hand flew to it, his eyes bulging. He leaned back slightly, but in their excitement, Purah and Maz Koshia didn’t notice.

The monk held his hands out, cocking his head. “May I?” Purah eagerly gave the Slate Lite to him. He turned it over in his hands, admiring it from all angles. “Excellent craftsmanship. Beautiful attention to detail,” he grinned. “My fellow monks would be proud. How much function does it have?”

Purah shrugged. “Not much. It doesn’t have quite the horsepower to run normal Runes, but it _can_ take pictures. We mostly use it as another display, really. Took me seventy-five years to get it working as well as it does.”

“Well, color me impressed!” Maz Koshia mused. Purah’s face lit up at that, her eyes glistening. “This will work well for the test results. I cannot wait to see it in action.”

“Ooh, me neither, me neither!” Purah squealed, hopping up and down.

Maz Koshia turned and held the Slate Lite out to Link, inviting him to look at it. While Link was also impressed that Purah had managed to build it, he nevertheless shied away from the monk’s offer. He remembered the first time he held the Sheikah Slate — how the Malice inside him had greedily forced its way inside the device... giving rise to its unique _personality._ The last thing he wanted was to do was repeat the dreadful act on Purah’s pet project.

Link shook his head, muttering, “I’d better not,” while gripping his corrupted Slate.

A spark of recollection went off in Maz Koshia’s mind. He, too, remembered his first encounter with the corrupted Slate. It hadn’t exactly greeted him warmly. He tucked the Lite close to his chest, agreeing with a reverent, “Right, right.” He then returned the device to Purah.

She paused, pursing her lips. “Speak of the devil… I must say I’m more than a bit curious about the original Slate.” Her eyes zeroed in on it, sitting in Link’s lap. He instinctually clutched it tighter. “Is it just me, or does it look a bit, er, different?”

Link and Maz Koshia exchanged glances. “You don’t know the half of it,” Link said.

He was about to explain what had happened when a sudden rushing sound issued from the walls, cutting him off. It was deep, mechanical, like a machine whirring to life. The lights of the lab gradually burned brighter, overpowering the candlelight. A flurry of footsteps, followed by a cry of panic, sounded from the front porch. Everyone turned their heads toward the doorway, whereupon Symin stumbled in, his pants smothered in grass stains, one of his sandals distinctly smoking.

He gave them a crooked smile and adjusted his glasses. “Furnace relit! We’re ready to go!”

Purah beamed at him, “Just in time, Symin! Great work!” She then tapped her fingers on her Slate Lite, squinting at the Sheikah Slate. “I guess we’ll look into it later, hm? For now, we need to finish up your exam.”

Link glanced at his things. “Erm, can I put my clothes back on first?”

“Not quite. There’s one more test we need to run, and it works better if you’re naked. Sorry,” Purah replied, making her way to the large stalactite hovering over the stage in the corner. It now breathed with vivid blue light. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt at all. Come on over here, Linky.”

Link, desperate to get himself decent again, followed her. She tapped some instructions into her Slate Lite, requesting the biopsies from Maz Koshia. He brought them over, joining Symin at the base of the stage, observing. After plugging in Link’s blood, tissue, and bone samples into a console on the wall, Purah stepped back and typed in a few more commands.

She pointed to the pedestal beneath the stalactite. “All righty, Link, it’s ready for you. This pretty little Guidance Stone will run a full body analysis. All you have to do is wait beneath it, okay? Have a seat on the pedestal.”

Eyeing the colossal stalactite hanging above his head, Link gingerly sat upon the pedestal, gripping its sides. The moment he sat down, the Guidance Stone began to glitter with blue light, which dripped down its surface like a trickle of water. The light coalesced into a single drop at the tip of the Guidance Stone, growing thicker by the second. At last, it grew too heavy and dropped, landing with a splash on top of Link’s head.

A tooth-chattering shudder ripped through him as the drop of light soaked through his hair and skin, dissolving into his body. He felt a jolt of what seemed like ice water shoot through his veins; it ran from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, giving him goosebumps.

Purah hurriedly scooted towards him and extended the Slate Lite by his feet. He leaned over, amazed, to see that the drop of light had seeped through his body and was gathering again on his heels.

They were all captivated. The light gathered into two thick, bright droplets before they slipped off Link. Purah caught them on the Slate Lite’s screen. As soon as the light left him, the chill that had taken Link was gone. Purah straightened, looking down at her Slate Lite. Her glasses lit up from an influx of glyphs on its screen.

Link blinked, amazed and slightly confused. “Is that it?”

Purah nodded. “Yup, we’re done!” In a flash, Maz Koshia and Symin appeared beside her, crowding their heads to peek over her shoulders. Her nose scrunched. “Oof, this is gonna take a while to process, though. There’s _so much data_ here…”

“That’s the most data I’ve ever seen…” Maz Koshia breathed.

Indeed, the Sheikah symbols on the screen blurred by endlessly. Link wasn’t sure what that meant, but it made him uneasy for some reason.

Maz Koshia folded his arms, shrugging. “Strange. Well, it is just a matter of waiting, I suppose. Patience is a virtue.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Link asked, squirming where he sat. Though still nervous about learning the truth, he suddenly found himself antsy.

Purah shook her head. “A few hours at the very least. Maybe a day at the worst. But I can leave it running.”

The group exchanged glances. Now that they had done what they were eager to do, they were unsure of what to do next.

“So… breakfast, then?” Symin proposed. “I’d be happy to run back down to the market.”

Link and Purah nodded. Though his abdomen hurt, Link was eager to get something into his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in what felt like days.

But Maz Koshia stopped them. He had gone quiet, deep in thought, for a moment before he cleared his throat, recapturing everyone’s attention. “Actually, there is one other thing I want to look into. It would prove beneficial to our analysis of Link.”

Link winced to himself, not looking forward to additional exams. “What is it?”

The monk pressed his palms together and touched his fingertips to his veil. He looked Link dead in the eyes, stating, “I would like to return to the Shrine of Resurrection. From what you have told me, that is where this all started. I must see what’s become of my Shrine for myself.”

Link’s mind was suddenly swamped with memories of waking up there — memories that made his blood sour. The darkness, the isolation, his confusion. He’d tried his best to purge it from his mind. But Maz Koshia was determined. Link supposed paying the Shrine a visit wouldn’t hurt while they waited, but all the same, something nagged at him. A sense of dread. Only, he had no idea what he could possibly be dreading in that empty cavern.

Purah and Symin, meanwhile, were ecstatic. Completely forgetting about breakfast, they both chimed in, “Can we come?!”

Maz Koshia nodded. “Of course. I would prefer you did. Pack whatever you think we may need. I doubt we will be there long.” He paused, muttering, “...That all depends on whatever we find.”

Purah and Symin shared bright-eyed, eager smiles. “I’ll pack the Slate Lite!” Purah said.

“I’ll bring the research journals!” Symin added. They then darted off to prepare their field bags.

Link, feeling shaky for some reason, slid off the pedestal and joined Maz Koshia on the lab floor. They stared at each other for a moment, both of their minds clouded.

Link wet his lips, murmuring, “We’re going back…? I never thought I would. I… hope we find what we’re looking for.” He blinked, frowning. “What _are_ we looking for, Maz? There’s… nothing left there.”

The monk folded his arms. “Answers.” He stared, long and hard, at Link before he glanced down at the Sheikah Slate. The monk sighed through his nose. “I hope.”

As Symin and Purah gathered their things, Link took the opportunity to get dressed and don his packs. Finally, when everyone was ready to go, they all stepped outside. As Link looked out over Hateno, his brows furrowed. It only then occurred to him just how far away the Shrine of Resurrection was from there. Purah and Symin weren’t properly dressed for the long trek it would take, nor did they pack enough provisions for it.

Link turned to Maz Koshia, puzzled. “We’re… not going to walk to the Shrine, are we?”

“Not at all,” the monk replied. “We are going to warp there.” He paused, cocking his head. “Hm, now that I’m thinking about it, have you ever warped before?”

Link’s eyes glazed over. “I’m not sure what that even means?”

“Teleportation, Linky!” Purah said, her smile wide. “It’s awesome!”

“And instantaneous. The perfect way to travel!” Symin added.

“Wow,” Link marveled. “H-how do we do it?”

Maz Koshia smiled, placing a hand around Link’s shoulder. “Just like this. You may want to close your eyes.”

Though he had instructed Link to close his eyes, they remained open, watching the monk make a circular motion with an open palm. Soft blue light emanated from his fingertips, growing brighter until it was almost blinding. The light began to crawl across the monk’s arm, slow and tendril-like, before rapidly coating the rest of his body. But it didn’t stop with Maz Koshia — it latched onto Link, Symin, and Purah as well, smothering them. They weren’t even fazed.

Link was suddenly overwhelmed by a suffocating feeling of numbness that spread throughout his body like wildfire. He involuntarily panicked, choking on the air that refused to flow into his lungs. But he couldn’t move. He could only watch with a surge of horror as the light coating his body began to break him apart before his pieces were sent into the air like a breeze.

All at once, he didn’t exist. And yet he _did_ exist, his free-floating consciousness somehow registering that he was rocketing through the atmosphere at blinding speeds. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He didn’t have a mouth, lungs, anymore. His body had been temporarily converted into light. To say that it was disorienting would be a massive understatement.

Fortunately for Link’s delirium, the trip was instantaneous, just as Symin had said. Link had no sooner began to panic when the smears that flashed before his eyes began to solidify into a hillside lined with pine trees and tall grass. As quickly as it came on, his numbness dissipated, and he found himself standing with his real, flesh and blood legs on solid ground.

Link’s knees immediately gave out and he flopped over, battling a bout of dry-heaving. He ripped away his goggles and scarf.

“Uh, oh! Link!” Purah cried.

Maz Koshia was immediately at his side, a reassuring hand laid on his back. His touch helped to anchor Link’s spiraling equilibrium somewhat.

“You kept your eyes open, didn’t you?” the monk cooed.

Link nodded, clutching the grass for dear life.

Maz Koshia chuckled. “I did that on my first try, too. Just give yourself time to catch up.”

Purah, Symin, and Maz Koshia patiently waited for Link to re-orient himself. It only took a few minutes. Eventually, Link got to his feet and gave himself a shake.

“I’m good,” he grunted.

Looking about, Link found that he recognized his surroundings; they had materialized onto the clifftop just outside of the Shrine of Resurrection. Far off into the distance loomed the spires of Hyrule Castle, shrouded with darkness.

The group viewed the castle for a moment before an icy breeze licked at their necks. Turning, they came to face the gaping, dark maw of the Shrine of Resurrection nestled within the cliffside. A faint red light beckoned at them from deep within.

Link’s heart gave a heavy _thud._ Meanwhile, Purah and Symin’s excitement abated slightly. Maz Koshia stiffened, his fists clenching. They could all feel it. Something was off.

“Here we are,” the monk murmured. Waving for the group to join him, he slowly tread forward, followed closely by Link, Purah, and finally, Symin.

They stepped through the mouth of the Shrine and down the stairs into the semi-darkness, their figures highlighted by the crimson glow of the lights on the walls. Link wiped at a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek. He felt for a moment that he was crawling down the throat of some slumbering beast.

Something shimmied up to his leg. He would have cried out if he hadn’t heard Purah whisper, “It wasn’t like this when I left it…”

Link shuddered. “It was for me.” Purah’s breath rattled at that.

When they finally reached the ground floor, they had all fallen silent. Only the quiet clapping of their feet made any sound. The crimson lighting was more pronounced down there, soaking them completely; no natural sunlight could follow them. Link’s eyes glowed rather eerily in the dark. The humid, stale air had since cleared out, but it had grown dank and frigid, making their breaths cloud. A stench, charred and sickly-sweet, hinted the air, making them gag. Everyone but Symin recognized it; it made their stomachs turn.

They strode straight through the anteroom, never slowing their pace. As they walked, Symin breathed, “I feel like we shouldn’t be here.”

“This is _my_ Shrine,” Maz Koshia said firmly, his voice agitating the darkness. “ _I_ decide who is and isn’t welcome.”

His words sent a tingle down Link’s spine.

When they finally reached the doorway to the pedestal chamber, Maz Koshia ground to a dead halt. Link bumped into him by accident, his heart fluttering.

“What’s wrong?” Link asked. But Maz Koshia didn’t reply. Peering around the monk’s elbow, Link caught a glimpse of the next room.

The sight before them was grotesque. It wasn’t the same Shrine Link had left from. A thin black fog hung over the broken shards of the resurrection pedestal thrown across the floor, but something was covering them. It was the source of the smell: a thick, sludgy mire of Malice, black as night and glowing with a subtle magenta light. It seemed to call to Link, pumping a zing of adrenaline into his veins and urging him forward. But he remained rooted in his place, Maz Koshia blocking him.

They all stared, disturbed, at what lay before them. Maz Koshia had gone as stiff as a statue. Link flinched when the monk finally moved, dragging his feet forward to step inside.

“Maz…?!” Link called after him.

Maz Koshia looked about the room, horrified by the state of his life’s work. “It’s wrong,” he growled. His voice was raw, disgusted. “It’s _all wrong._ Twisted. Perverted. Desecrated.” He stepped further inside till he stood just before the Malice slathered on the floor, his hands shaking. “How could this happen…?”

Link had never seen him like this. It was unsettling. He wasn’t sure how to console him. Link eased himself forward, attempting to explain to him that this was much different from what he had seen, that it had worsened. But he never got the chance.

“Maz?” Link began.

The moment Link was within arm’s-reach of Maz Koshia, the monk suddenly whirled on him, the eye on his veil blazing with a crazed fire. Link froze, petrified. He was helpless to react when Maz Koshia lashed out at him, wrapping his hand around his neck and shoving him over to the wall, pounding Link against it.

Purah and Symin gasped, storming inside. But they trembled in their tracks. They didn’t dare stand up to the towering, vengeful skeleton threatening Link. All they could do was watch as Maz Koshia unleashed his unbridled rage upon him.

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” the monk roared in Link’s face, his voice thundering off of the walls. “ALL — YOUR — FAULT!”

“Maz — what are you — ?!” Link wheezed, fear searing his blood.

He cut off when Maz Koshia’s hand tightened around his throat. The monk leaned his burning veil closer, hissing, “Show your face, _Defiler,_ so that I may rip you out of Link _cell — by — cell!!”_

With each word he spoke, his grip only strengthened till Link’s windpipe began to creak. Link gasped, his hands flying up to claw at Maz Koshia’s wrist. Despite his ancient frame, the monk was incredibly strong. He glowered through Link, delving deep inside him. Part of Link knew that the monk wasn’t screaming at him personally — he was screaming at someone else. Some _thing_ else. But even then, it was difficult not to shy away when the scalding words were being spat into Link’s own face.

“L-let me go, Maz, y-you’re hurting me!” Link whimpered. “Please!”

Link’s lungs heaved as Maz Koshia proceeded to slide him up the wall with ease. Dangling by only his throat, Link kicked and sputtered, his gaze locked onto the fiery Sheikah eye boring into him. Maz Koshia suddenly wasn’t himself, anymore. He was merciless, hellish. And Link couldn’t get away, no matter how much he writhed. As he stared down the Sheikah’s eye, he squirmed against his blinding fear slithering deep inside him, where it pooled, festering.

He had felt this before.

_Oh, no._

“Not until you face me,” Maz Koshia spat. “Go ahead. Make my day. Prove to me your might! Or would you rather hide behind Link’s face, _coward?”_

A shudder rattled Link’s spine, an involuntary glare twisting his brow. A split-second realization hit him, sucking his breath away with a whimper. Something was happening to him. Something he would have rathered stay buried deep inside him.

Link swallowed, shaking his head. “Please — don’t — ! I-I don’t — ”

Maz Koshia cut Link off, digging his thumb into his Adam’s apple. Link choked. He was beginning to see stars. His fear of Maz Koshia ballooned in his chest till his lungs strained, threatening to burst. He wheezed in and out in rapid, hyperventilating draws, so much that his extremities grew numb.

“Stop — !” Link croaked, slapping at Maz Koshia’s hands. “Please!”

“Only if you challenge me,” the monk snarled, peering past Link’s eyes, goading what lurked behind them.

Link shook his head. He wouldn’t fight his friend.

But that only fueled Maz Koshia’s frustration. He had been counting on enticing the creature inside Link. With a yell, he reared Link away from the wall and slammed him against it so hard the stone cracked. Link’s eyes rolled in their sockets; he felt something warm ooze down his neck.

“CHALLENGE ME!” the monk screamed. “CHALLENGE ME, BEAST!”

Beast.

_Beast._

_BEAST._

Something inside Link snapped.

That single word put him over, setting off a chain-reaction within him — one that he knew was happening, but was powerless to stop. It was like a flash flood, carrying him away from his sanity, throwing him into a torrent of emotions he couldn’t control. He cried out against the tremendous wave of frothing, mind-numbing fear and anger that tore through his body, electrifying his insides.

“NO! NO, NO, NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!” Link howled. He wasn’t sure who he was screaming at, Maz Koshia… or someone else.

It made no difference to the monk. He had Link right where he wanted him. The moment Maz Koshia pulled his free hand back to strike Link, Link’s head rushed. Link extended his hand in efforts to block an attack, but before he could stop it, a hauntingly familiar sensation barreled through his veins. Both Link and Maz Koshia watched in horror as a twisting tentacle of Malice exploded out of Link’s shoulder, crawling down his arm and engulfing it, extending his reach.

Maz Koshia only had time to blink before Link’s Malice surged straight for his face. But it didn’t stop when it hit him. It greedily swallowed his head whole and forced his skull back to stave him off. Link’s heart stopped when a heavy, nauseating _crunch_ ripped through the chamber. The sound seemed to reverberate through his Malice, slithering into him.

Maz Koshia’s grip on Link’s neck abruptly loosened, and the monk crumbled to the floor.

Link slid down the wall, hitting the floor hard. He automatically curled into a ball and clutched his crushed throat, coughing as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t hear the approach of Symin and Purah. They gathered beside him and Maz Koshia, horrified by the scene they had witnessed.

After a moment or two, Link regained control of his breathing. He watched through bleary vision, his ears ringing, as Symin checked Maz Koshia, who wasn’t moving. Purah turned to face Link, wide-eyed and speechless. His heart shriveled in his chest at her petrified expression. Sweating, he looked from her, to Maz Koshia’s unmoving form, and then down to his arm.

Link’s stomach heaved. His breath barely rushed in and out of his lungs.

His Malice hadn’t receded. It painted his arm a grisly black, laced with vibrant magenta veins.

Link didn’t hesitate, his horror deciding his next move for him.

He scrambled to his feet and sprinted out of the Shrine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. Things are suddenly going wrong again for poor Link. I know I'm putting him through this myself, but it still pains me to do it. Though with what he carries inside him, trouble is bound to follow wherever he goes. But what will Purah and Maz Koshia's testing reveal? I personally found the analysis scene rather interesting. It was fun to imagine medical tools in the era of Hyrule. And what of Link's latest Malice outburst? Look forward to new updates to find out! In the meantime, hold onto your socks, people. We're going places. As always, I want to thank each of you individually for your support, your comments, and for the smiles you bring me. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to read my story. If you have any other comments, ideas, or revelations, I'm dying to read them! Thanks again for reading, and see you next chapter!


	16. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Welcome back to another update! I won't sugarcoat it -- this one's intense. Hold onto your hats, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you're enjoying the twists and turns this story takes as much as I've enjoyed piecing them together. In this chapter, we're about to get some long-awaited answers. Also, a shoutout to any previous readers from Fanfiction.net: there's been a slight tweak to the end of this one. Enjoy some new material! Regardless, before you read, I just want to thank you all for your support, your comments, and your enthusiasm. You're all so amazing and I couldn't ask for a better audience. Read on, and enjoy!

Link ran.

He ran like hell.

He ran as if Calamity Ganon himself were breathing down his neck. Frenzied, breathless, desperate. Where he was running to, he didn’t know.

But he didn’t care. Anywhere was better than that godforsaken Shrine.

Link tore through the anteroom and up the staircase, clinging to the slimy mass of Malice that was his arm, ingraining his fingers into it till he lost feeling in his hands. That thing was his arm — that thing was _attached_ to him. He couldn’t even look at it. Thick and sinewy, it throbbed beneath his grip like a beating heart, glowing and visibly pulsating. It was disgusting. An ocean of bile sloshed in his stomach with every twitch of it.

The fragments of Link’s shattered psyche pleaded for him to stop and spew out the caustic horror dissolving him from the inside out. But he didn’t dare. He had to get out. Dear goddess, he had to get out. He couldn’t stay in that Shrine for another minute.

He ignored his body’s screams, his legs powering him up the steps without his input. The stairs seemed to stretch on into eternity. They just wouldn’t _end._ When, at last, far ahead — seemingly miles ahead — a faint glimmer of sunlight winked at him from the end of the tunnel. His ragged breath caught. He needed that light. He couldn’t get to it fast enough.

But the closer approached, the more the walls around him began to melt and warp into a cavernous abyss, closing in on him. Link gave a jolt when an unholy wail surged out of the shadows, filling his ears. It was coming from the walls. The Shrine — it knew what he’d done. Both to it, and its creator. And it wanted to swallow him whole for it.

Link’s lungs spontaneously crushed as the walls leapt towards him. Crying out, his hands flew to his head, cradling it against the onslaught of darkness. He stumbled, but caught himself. He couldn’t afford to fall. No, he wouldn’t let himself. He had to get out _right now._

He forced his legs harder, but he couldn’t tell if he was running any faster. The roaring in his ears masked his footfalls. Undaunted, the darkness crept in further, enclosing him on every side. He could feel it pressing against his flesh. He tried to tell it to leave him alone, but his words clogged up his throat.

Finally, just as the Shrine was on the brink of consuming him, Link shot out from its mouth and onto the cliffside. His lungs burned as if he had run for miles, but in reality, he had bolted through the entirety of the Shrine in less than ten seconds.

The darkness surrounding him scattered, a void of blinding light taking its place. Link’s eyes screwed shut against it. Though free from the Shrine, his breakneck pace never faltered — he charged into the tall grass in a straight, unrelenting path. As his eyes adjusted, he found with a new flush of panic that his vision was… off. The glade around him was smudgy and seemed distant, as though he were looking at it through a foggy spyglass. As if he wasn’t really there.

While his sweltering mind tried to make sense of his surroundings, his gaze found the only object in his line of sight that was crystal clear: a familiar silhouette, standing against the horizon. Hyrule Castle. Its spires struggled out of the bank of black clouds consuming it. Link’s Malice gave a distinct spasm as he stared at the castle. His hand flew to his sludgy forearm, his face contorting. It was almost as if his arm was... _reaching_ for the castle.

And the castle reached back. Magenta light flickered along the clouds, which began to roil before Link’s eyes, almost signaling to him. Something there knew he was staring at it, and it lavished the attention. Link’s racing heart abruptly slowed and gave a _thump_. He choked, his head swimming.

Link couldn’t stop staring. And yet, he couldn’t stop running. He was so captivated by the castle, so engrossed in his flight from the Shrine, that he completely forgot the lay of the land. In the state he was in, he had no way of seeing the fast-approaching cliffside until after his foot plunged off the edge. He sucked in a gasp, his stomach lurching as his gaze was wrenched from the castle to his feet. Through the soup that was his vision, he couldn’t fully see the hundred-foot drop looming beneath him, but even if he could, he had been moving too fast to stop himself.

Link realized too late what was happening. His voice, lodged deep in his throat, finally burst out of him in a strangled scream as he barreled off the cliff and plunged toward the ground far below. Squinting through his streaming eyes, he tried to make sense of the blurry colors rushing past him, but his total lack of depth perception made it impossible. He thrust his arms forward out of instinct. It was all he could do; he was in too much of a blind panic to even consider pulling out his paraglider.

As he careened toward the ground, an all-too-familiar bloom of adrenaline rose from the pit of his stomach, cutting through his shock. He was helpless to subdue it. He barely heard the quick chirp that sounded from the Slate. Within a split-second, Link watched, both amazed and horrified, as the Malice coating his arm twisted and bulged, doubling in size.

 _No, not again_ — Link almost passed out at the sight of it. His normal hand immediately latched onto it, fingertips pressing into it in efforts to contain it. But it was for naught. Like a snake poised to strike, his Malice shot toward the ground, hitting it with a splatter.

Something inside him took over, then — an instinct he never knew he had. The moment he was within seconds of crashing into the ground, his Malice tensed. Link grunted as his shoulder was wrenched out of its socket, his arm whipping his body parallel to the ground and redirecting his momentum. He was flung like a rag doll, tumbling along the foot of the cliff before hurtling front-first into a tree.

He smashed into the trunk with a tremendous crash, the impact punching the wind out of him and sending the tree swaying. He was showered with acorns. Nearby wildlife scattered. Both the tree and Link’s ribs groaned in unison; he fell limp against the roots, a croak of pain fizzling out of his gritted teeth. He couldn’t move.

He lay there for a moment, futilely gulping in air like a fish as his body struggled to catch up with itself. Clawing for breath, he knotted his fingers into the grass, his blurry, spinning gaze locked onto the castle peeking at him from between the trees. The longer he stared at it, the more intently it stared back.

 _What have you wrought, Link?_ it seemed to ask him.

“Don’t…!” Link pleaded, his voice little more than a rasp.

 _What have you wrought?_ it demanded.

He knew what. He knew very well what he had wrought. The reminder of it lurked, cruel and merciless, in a dark corner of his mind, where he had shoved it away. But he refused to acknowledge it. Not now. Not ever. He didn’t dare. He had no idea what he would do if he ever stopped to even think about it.

But as he lay there, Link’s body and mind began to unravel faster than he could hold them together. The passing breeze froze the sweat that drenched his skin and soaked his clothes, his lungs shriveling into worthless shreds in his chest. All the while, his Malice-slathered arm continued to pulsate, every _thump_ dispelling the haze clouding his mind — his last bastion against his harrowing reality.

While in the Shrine, Link’s mind had been thrown into chaos. He couldn’t think straight. For a moment, that was a blessing, saving him from total mental collapse. He couldn’t think about anything other than his desperate need to run. But now that he was no longer running for his life, he couldn’t escape the death knell that was his reality. All he could do was lie there as the knowledge of what he had done shoved his head underwater, drowning him in dark despair.

It happened again. Oh goddess, it happened again.

Link began to choke on his shallow breaths as if Maz Koshia’s hand was still crushing his throat. Maz Koshia — what had he done to him?

Link was powerless to fight the memories of his outburst. All he could see was Maz Koshia’s fiery veil glaring him down, all he could hear was the awful _crack_ of his neck, the sight of him hitting the floor, motionless. The horror in Purah’s eyes. It all kept replaying in his mind, over and over and over again, beating him into the ground.

He sucked in a rattled breath, his body shaking so hard his teeth chattered. Yes, he knew what he had done. But he couldn’t swallow the reality that was being forced down his throat. He had done it _again_. Only it hadn’t been a Yiga he had hurt this time. It was a friend. A Sheikah monk.

_Maz Koshia._

He was gone. Link had killed him. Snapped his neck like it was nothing. It had been _easy._

Finally, the floodgates opened. A torrent of hot tears coursed down Link’s bone mask. He couldn’t breathe. He shook his head erratically. He refused to believe it. Not Maz Koshia. Not him. Not Maz Koshia, the dedicated servant of Hylia who had waited ten-thousand years for him; the friend he had confided in, shared his deepest fears and anxieties with; the monk who had devoted his entire existence to him.

The gut-wrenching _crunch_ of Maz Koshia’s neck wracked Link’s mind again, shattering whatever remained of his resolve into pieces. Link recoiled as if he’d been kicked.

“ _I’m sorry, Maz…!”_ Link cried. “ _I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”_

Link’s stomach writhed inside him. He began to heave. But his stomach, pulverized from hitting the tree, drew up nothing. Grunting against the bile burning in his gut, he twisted his fingers into his hair and slammed his Malice-coated fist into the grass, bitterly cursing himself.

Goddess, he was weak.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Hopeless.

This was all his fault. Maz Koshia had said so himself. Link had only made things worse — just like he always did. Link’s heart trembled for a moment at that thought until a scowl warped his brow, his jaw grinding. He struck the grass again, a ragged shout of self-loathing ripping from his throat.

He screamed till his lungs gave out. Over the following moments, he struggled to regain his breath, sucking in stifled gasps and releasing in bursts. Meanwhile, he could only stare, unblinking, at the thumping mass of Malice stretched out before him. The magenta veins coursing along it pulsed with light. Its incessant, organ-like beating was both revolting and hypnotizing. But it didn’t feel strange. If anything, it felt real. Part of him. Normal. But goddess, was it _wrong._

As Link continued to stare at it, he suddenly noticed something. A smell. Something was burning. He blinked, refocusing his gaze, before he quickly discovered thin tendrils of smoke curling off the grass beneath his sludgy knuckles.

 _He was burning the grass._ Link cried out and took his arm back, clamping down on it with his hand. No, this wasn’t happening. What could he do? It was only getting worse. And he had no idea how to control it.

His face contorted into a snarl. “ _What’s wrong with me?!”_ he hissed through bared teeth.

He was afraid he already knew the answer.

But he couldn’t dwell on that. He had to get rid of the poison on his arm. He couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, nor did he care to see what else it could destroy. He’d seen enough. More than enough. Breath afire, Link reached out and began to scrape his fingers across his Malice, hoping to strip it away. But he may as well have been scratching at bricks. He’d rip his fingernails off before he removed anything. But it was all he could think to do amidst the maelstrom of loathing and panic lambasting his brain.

In spite of the futility of the endeavor, Link consumed himself with shearing away his Malice. Obsessed as he was, it was a miracle he heard a voice calling from afar.

“Link!? Link, where are you?!”

Link froze, his head snapping up, whirling toward the direction of the voice. He knew that voice.

His heart fluttered as a face appeared in his mind. It was a smiling face, yet one he could barely bring himself to even visualize, let alone look in the eye. With a grunt, Link rolled off the tree roots to try to get to his feet, to run where nobody would ever find him. But he only managed to make it to his knees before his bruised ribs stopped him, leeching the breath out of him. Bracing himself, he remained where he knelt, praying that the earth would swallow him up.

In the distance, Symin came to a stop at the foot of the hill, his brows low as he scanned the terrain. He tangled his fingers in his hair, chewing at his lip. Still no sign of Link.

Symin cupped his hands around his mouth, crying again, “Link! LINK!!”

Unfortunately for Link, he didn’t blend into the forest well. Symin quickly spotted his cerulean tunic through the trees. He hesitated only just before darting over. Link listened to Symin’s approach with bated breath, each of his footsteps stiffening his spine. When Symin finally came close, he lingered a fair distance away at a nearby tree. His eyes immediately found Link’s arm. He swallowed a mouthful of sour fear at the sight of it.

“...Link?” Symin asked, his voice faint.

Link flinched when he spoke. He didn’t reply. He could only gaze into the grass, clinging to his arm, his body shaking.

There was a brief pause. “Are… are you all right?” Symin wondered.

Link flinched again, but he barely processed Symin’s words. He took in a throttled breath, boring his fingers deeper into his arm. “L-l-leave me alone, Symin — y-you shouldn’t be here — !” he stammered.

Symin frowned, his brows knitting together. Mustering his courage, he repeated, his voice gaining a slightly stern edge, “Link, are you all right?”

There was another pause. Link exhaled shakily. Symin’s tone had startled him. “I-I don’t… I don’t know…!”

“Link… listen to me, okay?” Symin began carefully. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

Link’s face twitched. “What do you mean?” Symin’s words shook him for some reason. Circumventing his shame, he twisted around to look at him. “H-how do you know that?”

Symin flinched. Nervous as he was in the wake of what he’d seen, he managed to hold himself together when he took in the haggard, miserable Hylian before him. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “...I’ve seen them before,” he murmured. He then raised a hand, continuing slowly, “I’m here for you, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. What do you need?”

His voice… he kept it so level. So calm. He was trying to help, in spite of everything. But why, after what he’d seen Link do? Link searched Symin’s face, struggling to comprehend his motives. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Link lowered his gaze, still gripping his arm.

Symin asked again, “What can I do for you, Link?”

“I don’t know…!” Link breathed.

Symin’s eyes wandered to Link’s arm. He knew exactly what Link needed, even if he didn’t. Gesturing to Link’s Malice, Symin proposed, “Can I help with that?”

Link shuddered, gritting his teeth. “It won’t go away...” he grunted.

“What do you mean? H-how do we get it to go away?”

Link shook his head. “I don’t know, I — ”

He cut himself off, his mind beginning to race. When he paused to think back, the more sporadic his thoughts became. But they weren’t blurry, like the edges of his vision. They were razor sharp in clarity, almost burning in his skull. As horrible as the reality of it was, this _had_ happened before. With Izer. After Link had impaled him and shattered his body, the Malice coating his arm had simply melted off.

Unblinking, Link rambled, crushing his arm, “It just went away last time — w-why isn’t it going away _now?!_ _”_

“ _...Last time?”_ Symin repeated, his eyes widening.

The resurgence of memories of that night ignited a firestorm of panic and rage inside Link. He turned on Symin, roaring, “YES! This happened before, all right?! I KILLED someone with it! Just like I killed Maz Koshia — !!” Just saying those words immediately drained the adrenaline out of him. Wheezing, Link slumped over, crying, “ _Oh my god_ _dess_ _...! I did it again! I did it again — oh, god_ _dess_ _!”_

Symin recoiled, ducking near the tree he stood at. He struggled to control his heightened breath as he stared at Link. He knew Link needed help — Link _desperately_ needed it. But Symin had no idea what to do or what to say.

After a moment or two of tense silence — broken only by Link’s gasping — words finally came to Symin. Shaking his head, he began, “Link, Link — you didn’t kill Maz Koshia.”

Link’s face twisted into a filthy glare upon hearing his words. He couldn’t help but snarl at Symin, his yellow eyes flashing. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled.

Symin’s heart fluttered, but he nevertheless went on, voice shaking, “B-but I’m not lying. I promise. Think about it for a second — he’s lived for ten-thousand years, right? His body… it doesn’t work like yours or mine.” He shrugged. “Yes, you hurt him, but you didn’t kill him.”

Link’s eyes widened, the tremendous, invisible weight on his shoulders lifting somewhat. He searched Symin’s expression for any trace of deceit, but found none. “You’re… you’re serious?” he breathed. “You’re telling the truth?”

Symin offered him a weak smile, nodding. “It’s the truth. Trust me — he told me all this himself.”

Link’s heart nearly exploded out of his chest. He surged toward Symin, blurting, “He’s talking?!”

Startled by Link’s sudden movements, Symin staggered back, tripping over a tree root and landing on his rear. They stared at each other for a moment before Symin stammered, “W-well, er, he’s _swearing_ rather than talking, but yes, he’s vocal.”

Link froze, his chest heaving. “Oh my goddess…” he gasped. Abruptly exhausted, he leaned into a tree, his head lolling forward. “I didn’t kill him, then.... He’s all right…!”

“Mmm… more or less,” Symin replied. Link’s head snapped up, recapturing Symin’s gaze. He continued, adjusting his glasses, “But we need to examine him, regardless. I... I could use your help.”

A shudder rolled through Link. He shook his head against the memory of Maz Koshia hitting the floor, mumbling, “No — I’ve already done enough…”

“Don’t think like that,” Symin insisted. “You can’t think like that. What happened was…” he swallowed, “ _...frightening,_ but you can’t dwell on it.”

Link scowled into his Malice. “Easy for you to say.”

Symin’s shoulders sagged. “I know… And I don’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but… we have to stay in the present. That’s what Purah always says. The present is the only thing we can change. If we dwell in the past, then we’re no better off than those who fell before us.” He paused, his brows furrowing. He held Link steadfast in his gaze. “I know it hurts, but... We all need you, Link — _he_ needs you. Now, more than ever.”

Symin’s words managed to pierce Link’s anxieties and reach his core. Interestingly enough, he almost echoed something King Rhoam had said, and that stirred something deep inside Link. Hope, perhaps? A sense of duty? He wasn’t sure. Either way, the image of Maz Koshia appeared in Link’s mind, the faith and support he had put in him warming his frantic thoughts. That was irreplaceable. _He_ was irreplaceable. Maz Koshia had sacrificed the greater portion of his life in service of him. And Link couldn’t squander any of that, no matter the circumstances. It wouldn’t be fair.

Link released a sigh, his head clearing slightly. “Okay,” he agreed, forcing himself to nod. “Okay, I can help.”

Symin smiled. “Thank you, Link.” He eased himself to his feet. “C’mon, we need to move.”

The two of them made their way towards the hill. Link walked with as much haste as he could manage — on top of his sore ribs, he was still shaking off some residual adrenaline, which made him jittery. As they climbed, Symin maintained a bit of distance between him and Link, though Link pretended not to notice. All the while, neither of them spoke. Link was grateful for that. His head, swilling with emotion, pounded in-sync with his Malice.

When they arrived at the entrance of the Shrine, it only then dawned on Link that he would have to go back inside to help Maz Koshia. He stopped dead in his tracks, a bloom of fresh anxiety swelling in his chest.

“Please don’t make me go back in there,” he breathed.

Symin paused, giving him a pitied look. “If we could do it any other way, we would. I’m sorry.” In spite of his words, Link couldn’t bring himself to move. Symin went on, speaking tenderly, “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you. Just concentrate on breathing, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Link’s gaze flickered to him. “I-I guess.”

Symin began to instruct him, “Okay, just breathe in for four seconds, and breathe out for six seconds. Concentrate on that.” Link did as he said, breathing in and out, counting the seconds. Symin nodded. “Good job. C’mon, we’ll go together.”

“Okay.”

Willing his leaden legs to move, Link proceeded with Symin into the darkness. As they descended, Link fixated his attention on his breath, counting as Symin instructed him to. It helped somewhat to distract him, but it was still torture walking down those steps. The darkness made his skin crawl, the sickly-sweet stench in the air exacerbated by Link’s adrenaline-fueled senses. But he endured it. Having Symin at his side somehow kept the hysterical fireworks threatening to burst out of him in check.

At last, they arrived at the heart of the Shrine. In the hazy crimson light, Link could make out two figures inside the pedestal chamber. One lay on the ground, motionless, while the other knelt beside them. He could hear a voice, as well, echoing off the walls. Fierce and rapid, it fired off venom-laced threats as if it were stabbing the very air.

“ — that _fiend!_ Confound it all! If I ever face him — by the Goddess, if I ever face him — I will rip him apart until there’s nothing left of him to reincarnate! I don’t care if it’s not my destiny! I swear it! Upon Hylia’s hand, I swear it! Raaargh!!”

For some reason, Link began to sweat as he listened to the voice. He knew exactly who it belonged to. The knowledge of that both relieved and terrified him.

Symin, meanwhile, gave a shrug. “What’d I tell you? You didn’t kill him.”

Swallowing, Link murmured, “Thank Hylia, but… he doesn’t sound good.” He anxiously glanced at Symin. “How bad is it?” He was almost afraid to find out.

Symin sighed through his nose. “Not sure. We won’t know the extent of it until we get him to the lab.”

Link’s blood chilled at that, but there wasn’t any time to waste. Without another word, Link drove himself forward into the pedestal chamber, Symin hot on his heels.

“Maz Koshia?!” Link called out.

Inside the chamber, Purah jumped out of her skin when Link spoke. Knelt beside Maz Koshia, she whirled around to face Link and Symin, gripping her Slate Lite with white knuckles. The monk, however, didn’t so much as turn his head to greet them. No, he remained splayed on the floor, flat on his back.

Upon hearing Link’s voice, Maz Koshia’s scalding tone vanished in an instant, replaced with his usual calm, knowing timbre. Familiar as it was, his voice was scratchy, weak. “Link?! Is that you?!” he cried, his eyes darting wildly around the room.

As Link came closer, he got a clearer view of the monk — for better or worse. They had lifted his veil. Link suddenly realized he had never seen Maz Koshia’s eyes before. They somewhat resembled his own: two glowing orbs of pure, turquoise light hovering in empty eye sockets.

But Link’s stomach bubbled with guilt when he caught a glimpse of Maz Koshia’s neck and his face. His neck was buckled and crooked; Malice had melted patches of his leathery skin off, exposing vertebrae and ancient sinews. His skull was clearly visible in places, particularly around his cheekbones, nasal cavity, and mouth. He didn’t look like himself. He looked… skeletal.

Quelling a sudden urge to vomit, Link forced himself forward. “I-I’m here,” he said, kneeling beside Maz Koshia and Purah. Link was so engrossed in beholding the monk that he failed to notice Purah shudder away from him like a wounded dog.

Maz Koshia’s glowing eyes flew to Link. His expression softened. “Oh, thank the Goddesses… You’re all right.”

Link’s jaw locked. He fought off another well of tears as he ran his eyes over the damage he had done. “Maz — I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the monk dismissed, catching Link off-guard. “ _I_ am sorry. Truly, I am. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. But when I saw the state of my Shrine… with the culprit standing before me… I lost control.” He frowned. “It was wrong of me to do that to you. Can you ever forgive me, hero?”

A breath of relief breezed out of Link. “Of course I can. A thousand times over.”

Maz Koshia chuckled and smiled at him. That soothed Link’s panic immensely, but it still stirred inside him as the monk’s eyes wandered to his arm. Maz Koshia’s smile slackened into a line, his gaze clouding over. He gave a short cough.

Clearing his throat, he mused, “Now… what do we do about that?”

Link bowed his head, holding his sludgy wrist. “I don’t know…”

Maz Koshia gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

Symin then came around, interrupting them. “Maybe we can check it out at the lab?” he proposed. Crouching, he looked to Purah for a moment, waving her over, before he gestured toward the Sheikah Slate on Link’s belt. “We need to go back anyway, to take a look at you, Maz Koshia. Link, can you warp us? The Slate can handle it. The monk is in no condition to do it himself.”

Link blinked. He had no idea that the Slate could do that. Then again, he hadn’t really explored all that it could do. The Slate, meanwhile, vibrated on Link’s hip, though only he noticed.

Puzzled, but compliant, Link was about to take up the Slate when Maz Koshia cried out, making them all jump.

“NO!” the monk hollered. He gave another brief cough. “No, I’m not leaving yet. Not until I see for myself what happened here.” Everyone turned to him, brows high. He gestured toward the pedestal in the corner with his eyes. “Link — place the Sheikah Slate into the console. I must see the Shrine’s logs.”

For some strange reason, Link’s stomach flushed. He had no idea why. Nevertheless, he did as he was told. He made his way over to the pedestal, unhooked the Slate from his belt, and set it into the slot. The pedestal accepted the Slate, twirling it around before nestling it in its heart.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Link requested to the Slate, “Show me the Shrine’s logs.”

The Slate hesitated only slightly before it obliged with a chirp. _If you insist,_ it replied.

Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin’s eyes bulged when they beheld Link speaking to the device — at it _obeying_ him. They had never seen it react like that, as if it were alive, somehow. Were they not so stunned, they would have taken notes.

Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the chandelier-like structure above the broken resurrection pedestal: a Constellation Display. It had begun to glow brighter, dousing them all in bright red light. With a chime, the Display flashed, unfurling a holographic web of Sheikah text that painted the walls.

Link marveled for a moment before his eyes sifted through the glyphs adrift around him. There were thousands upon thousands of entries of the Shrine’s patients, listed back for millennia. It was incredible beholding so much raw data in one place. But one particular entry caught Link’s eye. The dates listed on this set were recent, roughly one hundred years prior. And it read his name.

“That one?” Link asked, his heart fluttering.

“Yes — that one,” Maz Koshia confirmed.

“Wait, you can read ancient Sheikah?!” Symin gaped.

“Y-yeah — I don’t know how, but I can,” Link replied. He had never given it a second thought before, but he didn’t have time to at the moment.

“Interesting…” the monk mused. “I-I can’t turn my head… what does it say?”

Link ran his eyes across the block of text, reading aloud what greeted him:

_SEASON OF DIN. 30th DAY. 11:16 PM._

_User login: Director Purah_

_Confirmed. Patient received: Link. Hylian._

_Analyzing… … …_

_Diagnosis confirmed. Begin remedial sequence…_

“That was the day we brought you here,” Purah murmured. “I-I remember this…”

Link turned to look at her, swallowing a lump in his throat. When she caught him staring, she immediately averted her gaze. Link’s brows furrowed. He was unable to get another word out before Maz Koshia urged him, “Keep reading — what else?”

Pulling his gaze from Purah, Link continued.

_SEASON OF DIN. 31st DAY. 12:44 AM._

_Patient expiry._

_Begin embalming sequ —_ _Ḙ͎͖͌͛͟͞͞R͇̰̍͞ř̬̗̩̪͆͂or_

_Tracert << User:_ _0͕͊1̟͈͚̦͋̋̏̊1̘͈̊͛0͈̟̍͂0̬͑1͇͑1̕͢1͎̦̎̔͜͡0̪̪̪̰̯̓͑̀͛̊1̛͔10̭̤̔͠ͅ0̹͔͐̋0̤̃0̮͊1̜̩̔͂̓͢0̛̭͕̜͍̀̄̀1̢̙͈̊̈̋1͚͞0̛̮1͇̒1̯̭̯̌̐̄1̦͈̫͗̈͊0̫̻̂͢͞0͖̙̓͋ͅ1̪͓̐̈1̢̻̝͊̕͝0͡ͅ1̡̭̯͈̣͛̃̉͊͠1̡̺̠̳͐̌̂͘11͖̫͘͘0͓̙̽͌͠ͅ1̞͖͛̆1̺̎0̲̲̈1̢̡̤̆̔̾1͈̏1̛͇̹͎͂͐͗͢0̪͆͜_

_> ̼͍̕͡>̬̥̲̃̍/̡̧͓̏̂͟͡/̹̮̋͘S̟̱͋̊C̙̗̓͑H͇̬̎Ṯ̛͕̜̽̊A̖̝̔͢͠͞S̢̼̘̦̰̊͛̃͆̎K͓̙͎̜̂̀͑̏/̣̞̬̎͗̂/̡͔͐͞<̖̲̣͑̅̑<̣̙͚̜̌̒͊͞0̝͖̏̕1͍̯̬̠͚͋̔̽̈͠0̠̰̺̅̃̊͟͡0̡͙̺̙̀̍̕͠1̪͉̐̓̄͜00̺̜̭̎̌̑1̭͙̑̃0̱̗̗̠̏̈́̏͠1̨̥̦̔͐͞1̟̪̔̀0̗̏1̥̻̘̳̓͛̃͡1̧̤͑͝1̲̪̉̆0͕̈0̪̊1̹͂1̖̖͖̝̈̉̕͜͠͡0̡̧̬̫̬̊͋̅̄͒0̯͔̮̙͌̐̚0̭̽̈́͗͢͢͠ͅ1̩̖͎̒̽̍̆͟1͍͓͎͉̓̌͂̒̿͟0̨̙̘̔̇̉1͊͜1͍̐1̖͚͓̟̊̉̌͂0̪͎͙̖̃̾̕̕1̭͍̻̻͛͋̈͞0̛̻̟͇̽͝1͓̫̌̈0̞͒11̨̪̭̦͂̀͌̈́00̳̹̳̤̉̆̔͡0̡̛͓̩̼͛̑̕1̼̪̙͚͓͆̄̅̿͊0̢̌ͅ0̣̞̃͘1̼̲͕̞̳͛̐̇̍̍1͇̲̾͑͊͢0̡̋0̱͛0̮̣͓̋̾͡0̮͓̮̤̻̓̃̽͘͡1̢̩͓̳̔̇̈͞0̝̮͚̉͑͝1̬͖̭̎̿̽11̳̔0̡̧̯̳̒͂͘͡1̪̖̹̫̤̄̈́̎̍͠0̡̭͎̲͒̈͂͌0͇̖̆̿0̫͡1̙̞̉̑1̭̮͑̊ͅ0̬̘͒͊͑ͅ0̭̼̏̆1̬͌0̢̖͖̩̓͛͐̚̕ͅ1͍̾_̻̟͖̔̈͌ͅ0̨̼̙͔̅͊̍̒1̳͚̦́͗͋00̽͟1̟͑͋͜1̹̬̫̯̝͗̊̆̿̿0̧̠͚̭͂͗͐̅1̪͗01̢̙͈̾̕͞1̑͟0̙̟̼̂͠0͈̥̾̀0̖̥͊͝0̘͉̲̅̑͡1̲̠͍̈́̎͘0̡̥̝̤͛̈́̇̏̚͜1̖̠̘̋̐̇1̣̈́͘͢0̦̗̱͋͌͞1̘̐1͉̈0̬͖̅͠0̠̺̑0͖̀1̡̨̲̪̔̇̽̕1̡͔̜͍̄͋͋́͒͟0͙͓̒̐1̙̣͔̖̭͊̏̇̾̊0̼̗̜͆̂̃͊͜0̡̳̳͇̓͒̂͛1̭̫̩̬̃̏̀͊͜͞0_

_1̖̈́͜͞1̢͚̗͑̿͝͠ͅ0̹͒0̖̠̇́͞ͅ0̥͚̻͉̌̊̈͞1̧͖͐̓͢͞1̧͓͈̓̎̏̅ͅ0̨̘̦͛͗̎̕ͅ1̛̹1̢̞̩͔͆̍͊͞0̨̬͕̒̿̐0̱͊1̳͖̄̇0̛̛̭̞̗1̧͙̿͗͜ >̫̺̺̿̈͊>/̺̘̈́̿/̬̔<̯̳͙͋̌͐<̮̻̬̗̈́͛͘0͕̮̂̾̽͟1̡̑0͚̒0͇͙̜͂̒͂1͈͙̭̾̃̅0͓̪͛͑0̫̊1̧̧̛̬̭͇͆̈́̃͠0͖͇̯̠̎̄̿͊1̧͔͈̔̒1͈̻̌̔̅͜0͙̤͎͇̟̔̀̆̇͘1̘͎̥͂̒͞1̗̥͂͂10̮̫̣̬̐̒̀̔0͕̰͆̍1̙̪̇̉10̺͉̪͕̀̈́̊͆0͍̓0͍̲͐̉1̧͖͓͕̯̐̆̏͗̚1̫̤͙̓̔01̦̥̬̇͛͊1͉̫̞̽̀͛1̡̤̔̒͜0̦͙̼͋̚͡1̥̺̣̋̓͘0̨͔̖̣͌̄͆̚1͉͈̓͗0̬͈͓̰̻̃̏̃͗͝1̨̼͌̆1͇̌0̨̗̈̇̈̏͜͢0̰̃0̥͛1͎̳̈̉0̖̙̞̎̃̔0̱̩̕1̡͔͔̋̏̋1̼͓̂̂0͍̙̳́̽͘0̟͓̰̖̈́̈́̚͝0̩̣̥̀̃͒0͍̯̭̿̓͡1̳̤̼̝̇̃͋͋0̣͓͉͈̓͊͂́1̪͊1̆͜1̥̳͔̭̩͑̌̄̏͝0͙̊1͎̹̼̈́͛͘0̛͕̥̖́̆0̫̲͚̝̓̇̃̾0̧̛̥̹͕̐̑͠1̼̻̑̕1̙̼̯̃̊0̧́0̧̲̈̅̄͢1̧͇̱̃͋̚0̲̞͍̿͌́1̖͆>̟͈͛̀>̯͎͈̿͌͒͒͜/̢̩̘͉͗̐͋̏/̭͎̉_

_< ͓̍<̘̳̜̭͊̐̊̌̿ͅ0͎̚1̳͖̯̬̀̅͊͝1̰̊0̧̟̻͒̿̒0̢͍̯̯́̓͂̉̕͢1̤͎͎̹̓̏͋͘0͙͚̾̔̿͟1̧̻̰̠̀̋̎͒01̡̰͆̎1̧̮̠̔̀͊1̺̹̠̾͌̾͜͝1͎̿0͎̳̗̎́̕ͅ0̪̼̿̂͘͟ͅ0̧͔́0̥̝́͆1͍̽1͚͍̬̾̆͝0̣̒0̙̯̇͊1̘͔͉͊̚͠0͇͊1͍̺̀͊0̞͂1̧̧͓̝͓͋̏͋̕͝1̱̓͢0̩̔0͕̺̓̀́ͅ0̭̻̪̭̐́͒́͠ͅ1̧̼͚͌͌10̨̡̪̉̋̽1̨̜̺̜̜̉̍̾̂̎1̻̩̽̈̎ͅ1̫͎̀͆0̖͎͇̥̉̓̃͛1̡̤̘̣͑̉̀͘0̨̛̞̇1͔̳̘̅̄͘0̧̨͌́1̬̰̗͈͛̄̌1͉̳̽͝1̧̠̩͆̐̎0̖̝͙̬̃͐̉͒10̭̓̊͜0̯͌0̤̦͂͘1̍ͅ1͋͢0̧̲͚͍̅́̎0̮̆1̻́̉͟0̨̧̨͎̇̏͘͡1̗̲̙͇͊̓̎͐>>͎̠̬̥͊̋̿̕_

Link didn’t make it past _expiry_ before his heart completely stopped.

“Expiry?!” he choked, turning to his companions. “Expiry — wh-what does that mean?!”

But they weren’t listening. Their eyes were wide and hollow, their faces totally drained of color… and they were all staring at Link.

“ _Nayru’s Love…!”_ Maz Koshia breathed.

A burst of feral panic gored a hole in Link’s stomach. His skin crawled beneath their gazes. Why weren’t they answering him?! Breath surging, he whirled on Maz Koshia, screaming, “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”

The monk swallowed hard. “Link, you — !!” he began.

Maz Koshia suddenly plunged into a coughing fit before he could finish his sentence. It was a wet, hacking cough, powerful enough to jerk his head forward. His bones ground in his neck, his chest heaving, but the rest of his body remained motionless.

“Maz?!” Link gasped.

Symin snapped out of his daze, rushing to try to settle the monk’s struggling. But he couldn’t risk moving him — not with his injuries. Symin shook his head, stating, “He can’t breathe — we need to get him back to the lab, _now!”_

“Nnn-o!” Maz Koshia stammered between coughs. “R-read the r-est!!”

“But — ” Symin tried to say. But the monk cut him off with another throttled rebuttal, his eyes imploring Link to keep reading.

Sweat had begun to stream down Link’s neck. Heart slamming into his ribs, he wrenched his eyes from Maz Koshia and back to the data. Maybe there was something else there?! But no, everything below the line he had read was pure nonsense, the glyphs jumbled and broken.

Apart from one word, near the bottom, wedged amidst the chaos: _reanimate._ The word sent a shiver down Link’s spine. He found with another pang of panic that that command had been logged over a month before the current date.

“All I can read is _reanimate,”_ Link flustered, his voice breaking. Maz Koshia gave a guttural gag. “W-what does all this mean?! I don’t understand!”

“We’ll figure that out later! We need to get him treated _now!”_ Symin commanded above the monk’s coughing. “C’mon, Link, warp us to the lab!”

Link wanted answers — he was starved for them — but Maz Koshia’s coughing was worsening. He was beginning to choke. They couldn’t delay. Link flew over to the pedestal, yanking the Slate from it. He brought it up to his face, practically shouting at it, “Take us to the Hateno Ancient Tech Lab!”

 _Better hurry..._ it mused. _We wouldn’t want our monk dying on us, would we?_

Link’s breath caught. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. But he never got the chance to investigate the Slate’s cryptic words. Almost immediately, crimson light seeped out of the device, coating Link’s fingertips. A familiar sensation crept over his body. He had learned his lesson from his last warp; he pinched his eyes shut, holding onto the Slate for dear life as the light consumed him before spreading to Maz Koshia, Symin, and Purah.

In an instant, they were whisked away from the Shrine and placed onto a stone marker in the grass at the lab’s doorstep. This time, Link managed to maintain a better hold of himself upon reforming, staying upright. He had only a second to register that the warp had been successful before his attention was jerked toward Maz Koshia, who lay at his feet, suffocating.

Symin ordered Link to grab the monk’s ankles while he cradled his neck and head. Meanwhile, Purah scampered ahead of them, throwing open the doors to the lab and clearing a path. Link hesitated for only a second, his gaze flying from the monk’s bare feet to the Malice coating his own arm. He worried it would further burn Maz Koshia. But, stowing his fears, he grabbed the monk’s ankles and helped Symin lift him.

As tall as he was, Maz Koshia hardly weighed anything; he was mostly bone and leathery skin, making transporting him easy. Even so, his sporadic coughing and the damage to his neck slowed Symin and Link down considerably. Being as gentle as they could, Symin instructed Link to bring the monk onto the raised stage, where they flipped him over to a kneeling position. Minding his neck, they draped him, face-down, across the pedestal beneath the Guidance Stone.

Purah wasted no time firing up her Slate Lite, programming the Guidance Stone to analyze him. The great stone stalactite above began to glow. Now that the monk was upright, Symin was able to help him get up whatever he was choking on. Link stepped away as Symin began to thrust his palm against the monk’s back. Link’s eyes flickered from Symin, to the Guidance Stone, and finally down to Maz Koshia’s feet, where, sure enough, his fears had come to light. A ring of melted skin marred the monk’s ankle, exposing part of his heel.

Link didn’t get the chance to fret over it, for Maz Koshia gave a sudden, sickening retch, his spine twisting. Something splattered against the stage, but Link couldn’t see what it was. Symin blocked it from his view.

Everyone froze. The only sound in the air was the monk’s scratchy gasping as he savored his breath. The three Sheikah all stared at whatever he had coughed up, their faces going ashen. Purah and Symin exchanged a horrified glance before Symin turned around, gazing upon Link as if he had just crawled out of a grave.

“Y-you should leave,” Symin stammered weakly.

Link took another step back, jaw dropping. “What?! No — no, I’m not leaving!” His voice grew more strained and desperate the more he begged for answers. “I’ve been in the dark long enough, I _need_ to know what’s going on! That’s what I came here, for! Please, just tell me!”

Symin looked about to be sick. Turning away from Link, he shook his head, gripping the pedestal. “I can’t do that.”

Link’s eyes blazed in their sockets. “Why NOT?!”

Symin recoiled, pursing his lips. He shook his head again. “I just can’t,” he repeated. It was _infuriating._

Link rapidly grew frantic. He couldn’t stop himself. His mind, somewhat stabilized after his outburst in the Shrine, began to fracture again. His blood boiled with corrosive panic.

“Don’t do this to me! Please, what happened to me in the Shrine?!” Link shouted. “Tell me SOMETHING! PLEASE!”

As he pelted the Sheikah before him with questions, he was oblivious to the Malice on his arm as it began to seethe, glowing brighter. Purah noticed the curdling of his Malice first. Symin and Maz Koshia followed. They both stiffened. Meanwhile, Purah’s face contorted into a mask of terror.

There was a brief, intense pause. Link’s desperation hung in the air, but nobody was saying anything. He stared at them all, struggling to comprehend what was happening, why they weren’t answering him. But in spite of the disarray in his mind, he knew this: they all knew something he didn’t. And it was driving him absolutely mad.

Before he could process what he was doing, he stomped toward them, throwing his arms out. “WHAT ARE YOU NOT TELLING ME?!”

A sudden jolt of pain lanced straight through Link’s chest, piercing his heart and stealing his breath. He dropped to his knees, clutching his arm, doubling over as it boiled and throbbed beneath his grip. An inexplicable chill slithered up his spine, chattering his teeth. Everyone watched in transfixed horror as his Malice crawled across his shoulder, spreading to his neck, wrapping around his throat.

The silence that followed was deafening. No one moved. No one even breathed. Not until a whimper burst out of Purah. Everyone’s gaze was torn from Link and to her as she scrambled away from them and cowered against the wall. She covered her eyes, crumbling into sobs.

Link’s blood iced over as he stared, emptily, at the poor girl. “...Purah...?” he whispered.

She retreated further into herself, shaking her head wildly.

Time seemed to stop for Link. In reality, he only beheld her for a brief second. He was helpless to withstand the complete reversal of his mental state, succumbing to the degradation of his resolve. His heart shriveled inside him, dissolving into his body until he could no longer feel… anything. Not as it bashed itself to pulp against his ribs, not his head swimming from his nonexistent breath, not the erratic pulsations of his Malice. In that moment, he didn’t even feel human.

How could he? He wasn’t. Not anymore.

And then it hit him, like a mountain crashing on his head. Dear Hylia… what was he doing? What was he becoming? On his hip, the Sheikah Slate warmed, its lights glittering subtly. It knew _exactly_ what he was becoming. It was as plain as the horror in Purah’s eyes.

“Link,” came a voice, cutting through the heavy air.

Link was pulled out of himself and to Maz Koshia. He still knelt beneath the Guidance Stone, his arms dangling worthlessly at his sides. But his eye was honed in on Link — and only Link. Purah and Symin may as well have been nonexistent. The monk held Link in an iron grip, latching onto his very soul, it seemed. Link shuddered, drenched in an all-encompassing dread as he knelt, paralyzed, before the monk.

But Maz Koshia’s following words were not delivered to strike Link down for his monstrous reaction. No, they were earnest, raw, imploring. Weak, even.

“Listen to me,” Maz Koshia began. “I know you’re scared... I’m scared, too. More than I have ever been in all my life…” His eyes pinched. “But we will conquer this. Together. You have to believe that.”

Link’s brain had gone numb. He had no idea how to respond. But he couldn’t have even if he wanted to. His throat was cinched too tight to allow anything other than a wisp of breath out. All he could do was cling to his writhing Malice, staring into Maz Koshia’s eyes.

Maz Koshia held him firmly in his ancient gaze. “Do you trust me, hero?” he asked him.

A painful pause. How could he call him that?

“Yes,” Link whispered.

“Then trust me when I say that... we will figure this out. We will talk later. About everything. I promise.” Swallowing, Maz Koshia continued, beseeching him, “For now… _you must calm down._ Your fear is _feeding_ it.”

Link’s grip on his Malice tightened, his stomach clenching. Sweat crawled down his face.

“Take some time…” Maz Koshia continued. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m afraid it’s not ideal, but you… you cannot stay. It’s for the best.”

Symin, his head bowed, murmured, “There’s a small lake nearby.”

“Go there, Link. It will be all right,” Maz Koshia said, offering him as much of a reassuring smile as he could muster. Link only then noticed that something dark was running out of his mouth. But the monk didn’t acknowledge it, urging him further, “Go. Please. We will discuss everything… later.”

Link didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength or dexterity to. Not anymore. His fear and panic had devastated his body beyond reaction. He gave no mental input into his movements. Something seemed to carry his empty body along as he swallowed thickly, standing on shaking legs. Without a word, Link turned and stumbled out of the lab, glazed eyes fixed into nothing as he went.

The moment he was on the lab’s doorstep, the front doors slammed shut behind him. Link sucked in a strangled gasp, his eyes stinging.

He stood there for a moment, his legs leaden. He couldn’t go back. Not yet, as the monk had said. So Link shuffled across the grass. He made it as far as the hillside, where he stopped at the edge. Below him, nestled on the clifftop, lay a curved, glittering lake, trees lining its banks. An island sat at the heart of the lake, its sole occupant a colossal oak tree. It was a peaceful spot. Under fairer circumstances, Link would have appreciated it better. But not now. It was merely the place he was being sent to to relax. His legs dragged him toward it.

Link didn’t even register the trip over to the lake. He was just suddenly… there. He sunk to his knees at the water’s edge. Bathed in the cool shade of a tree, a passing breeze tousled his hair, but he couldn’t feel it. Even his tough, sinewy Malice he couldn’t feel as he unconsciously crushed it till his fingers locked up. He remained still for a while, staring across the water.

 _Relax,_ Maz Koshia had begged of him. _Relax._ The word didn’t even sound real.

How could Link even begin to do that? To relax? After all that had happened? After all the damage he had wreaked — physically, mentally, maybe even spiritually — to himself, to Maz Koshia, to Symin… to Purah. The mere concept of relaxing seemed astronomically impossible, even in his unfeeling state.

But the longer he knelt at the lakeside, the more his numbness began to wear off. It was slow at first, but gradually, feeling returned to him, like his body was waking up from a nightmare — his ribs ached, his gut seethed, his throat strained. He doubled over, propping himself up on the shoreline. Grunting and gasping, Link began to squirm as he endured the uncomfortable, incessant pulsations of his Malice; his skin crawled against the fresh patch of it that now encircled his neck like a noose.

Averting his eyes it, he found himself staring into his reflection in the water. He looked ghastly. His eyes — all three of them — glowed with anxious light. His hair was disheveled. Dark spots of sweat stained his tunic. And just as on the Great Plateau, small tufts of grass clinging to the shoreline burned beneath his Malice-slathered palm, wisps of smoke caressing his bone mask.

Link’s breath began to rush in and out of his shriveled lungs as his eyes crawled from his hand and up his forearm. Gritting his jaw, he began to claw at his Malice again, his breath hissing between his teeth. The action did nothing but run his fingernails ragged. But he didn’t care. He had to get it off. He had to get it off _somehow._

“C’mon…” he wheezed. “Come off…! Come off!”

Shuffling forward on his knees, Link plunged his arm into the lake, endeavoring to wash off his Malice. He dug his fingertips into it, carving deep grooves in its thick, sinewy sludge. For a moment, he thought he was making some progress, his breath igniting with hope. Faint clouds of magenta and black whispered in the water. A wild grin seizing his face, Link brought out his arm out of the water, inspecting it. But his fluttering heart dropped into his stomach. His Malice was unchanged, apart from a few new additions: his dislodged fingernails studding his forearm. Link’s panicked gaze flew to his normal hand — to his blood leaking out of his fingertips.

Link’s gut wrenched. Shaking violently, he finally gave up, slamming his hands against his head. “Argh!” he howled, shattering the quiet lakeside. “Goddess, I hate you — I hate you!” he gasped. To whom he was screaming at, he didn’t know. But it didn't matter.

It went quiet for a while as Link continued to gasp and writhe against his own disgust. But he jumped out of his skin when a familiar chirping sound interrupted his mental spiral.

He blinked, stiffening. He slowly turned his head down toward his hip, where the Sheikah Slate lay. Its lights winked at him, trying to get his attention.

With a trembling hand, he plucked the device from his hip, glancing at its screen.

 _Why do you hate your Malice, Master?_ it asked him.

Link swallowed hard. With his mind as numb with loathing as it was, he barely processed that the Slate was actively speaking to him — that it had been listening to his anguish. It never crossed his mind how bizarre and unnatural it was. All he could register at that moment was that someone — rather, some _thing_ — was concerned for him. He replied to it without even thinking.

“You know why,” he grunted. “You know what I’ve done.” He hung his head, heavy with painful memories, his Malice-laced fist closing. “It’s turned me into a monster. I’m no better than that beast!”

 _No,_ the Slate disagreed.

Link blinked. “W-what?”

_You're not a monster. You have been blessed._

Link’s face contorted. What was the Slate even saying? He couldn’t fathom it. Link’s grip tightened on the device as he hissed, “This is no blessing. _I hate this.”_

 _You shouldn’t,_ the device replied. Link gaped when the Slate added, _You rose for a glorious purpose._

Its lights blipped for a moment before its response dissolved off the screen, replaced by the crimson Sheikah eye.

Link’s face flushed with anxious heat. Purpose? What was the Slate talking about?

“Wait, what do you mean?!” Link tried to ask. “What — ?!” But the Slate remained silent, simply staring at him.

Link just about crushed the Slate in his desperation for answers. “Tell me something! Anything!” No reply. Link’s eyes flashed. “What do you want from me?!” he snarled.

The Slate didn’t answer immediately. But when it did, its response chilled Link’s blood.

_I already have what I want._

Without another word, the Slate proceeded to place itself in standby mode, its screen going blank. All that reflected in its screen was Link’s petrified face.

Link choked and shook his head, trying to comprehend what he had just seen. He leaned back, scarcely breathing. The Slate slipped from his hand into the grass. As his heart began to race, so did the pulsations of his Malice, again. He groaned and grit his teeth, gripping his beating, sludgy forearm.

His mind raced. He had no idea what to make of all this. The ghosts of his conversation with the Slate loomed in his mind, but they gradually faded away as memories of earlier bled back into his thoughts. His examinations. Journeying to the Shrine of Resurrection. The morbid scene he found there. What he’d done to Maz Koshia. The Shrine’s logs —

Link stopped cold, his mind bleeding with the harrowing words he had read.

Patient expiry.

His stomach burned. The brief moments he had spent reading the Shrine’s logs had been as enlightening as they were disturbing. They had served their purpose, yes, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand what he had read. But that didn’t stop his shattered mind from trying.

Before, he had been too frantic to fully internalize what those words meant. But not then. The silence that the Slate had left him with dominated his mind, paving the way for clearer, more rational thought. And as Link allowed those thoughts to connect, a world-shattering, haunting realization seeped into him, rotting him to his corrupted core.

Patient expiry.

He had died in the Shrine.

And Maz Koshia, Symin, and Purah had been too horrified to say it.

“Oh my goddess…!” Link breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!! This chapter was a RIDE, let me tell you. I hope you enjoyed it! Regarding Link's reaction, I tried my hardest to really capture what a panic attack feels like; I've only had one or two in my life, but they weren't pleasant at all. I hope I could capture that. As for anyone who experiences them, I feel for you and I commend you. Stay strong. Thankfully, Maz Koshia isn't dead (he seems to be a fan favorite; he's honestly one of my favorites in this story). Whew! Even so, he's not out of the woods yet. And Symin and Purah are being dragged along for the ride of their lives! But it seems there's more to Link's infection (and more to the Sheikah Slate) than previously imagined! We'll just have to see where this brings our group. As for these revelations... exciting and scary as they are... stay tuned for more. We're not finished yet. Also, there's a hidden message in the glitched text in the Shrine (I hope that displays correctly!). If you can decode it, I just might answer any questions you may have (without spoiling anything of course). Thanks again, as always, for reading! I'm looking forward to seeing you next chapter!


	17. The Contingency Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, one and all, to another exciting installment of Corrupted Hero! I hope you enjoyed some of the revelations of last chapter, because we're about to get a few more. Let's just hope our heroes are prepared for what they're about to find out. It'll be a doozy. Read on and see for yourself!

It was well past noon when the doors to the lab finally opened.

Link, still at the lakeside below, didn’t notice. He lay on his back beneath a tree, the crook of his arm draped over his eyes. His Malice-slathered hand clung to the scorched grass beneath him in a death grip, thumping softly with his heartbeat. Gluing his jaw shut, he endeavored to ignore it, focusing instead on the whisper of the waves, the birdsong in the air — anything but the poison on his arm and his grim reality looming over his head.

His body may have been still, but he was anything but. His thoughts and anxieties were a hurricane screaming inside his skull. His muscles ached. His stomach churned. His blood frothed. And it was all because of the ghastly realization polluting his mind.

He had died.

And yet, there he was — living, breathing, _agonizing_ over the thought of it. His brain was rending itself apart trying to work out how and why it could have happened — if it was even true. How could it be? Nothing made sense anymore. Link didn’t know whether to scream or cry or punch something, but he didn’t have the strength for any of it. All he could do was lie there, trembling, as he forced himself to shut out everything he thought he knew.

This, sad as it was, was his best attempt at relaxing — if one could even call it that. He had finally given in to Maz Koshia’s request, but his surroundings gave away his earlier attempts to rid himself of his Malice. The Malice that, deep down inside, he knew had something to do with his resurrection. He lay in the center of a chaotic patchwork of charred grass marring the shoreline. Dried magenta blood crusted his ragged fingernails. His bags had been rifled through and thrown aside; blackened branches and chunks of flint littered the ground alongside a few Malice-slicked swords and a bent-out-of-shape frying pan.

He had tried everything. _Everything._ Even relaxation, as Maz Koshia had urged him to. But he had nothing to show for it. Utterly defeated, Link had belted out one final scream of frustration before he dropped to his back.

And that was how they found him — lying amidst the scraps of his own defeat.

Quiet footsteps padded against the grass, growing closer. Link almost didn’t hear them — his mind was too full, stifling his hearing. It was only when the footsteps stopped a few feet away that he sensed someone nearby. Ears perking up, he raised his arm, his gaze flying toward his company.

His heart fell stone cold upon seeing them. Symin and Purah stood before him, both looking rather worse for wear. Their silvery buns were loose, flyaway hairs sprouting here and there. Symin’s hand was bandaged, and he had taken off his coat. Purah’s scarlet eyes were pink and puffy; she hid herself slightly behind Symin’s leg. In spite of their haggard appearances, they offered Link soft smiles, both concealing something they had brought along.

Link could barely look at them. He wanted to roll over and hide his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to do even that. Instead, he frowned, looking them up and down. He half-wondered what it was they had been up to that required sending him away. He’d been out there for hours.

Symin and Purah’s eyes darted around the area, their smiles fading slightly upon taking in the pitiful shreds of Link’s endeavors. Eventually, Symin shook it off, refocusing on Link. He took a step forward, putting on another smile for him.

“Hey,” he began, keeping his voice light. “We, erm… brought lunch. Thought you might be hungry?” He held out what he and Purah had brought with them: three bamboo bento boxes, faint curls of steam rising from them.

Link blinked. Based on their appearances, he was expecting to hear bad news. Not this. If he stopped to think about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. But that was the very least of his worries. All the same, part of him melted at their kindness. Deep down, he needed it. Desperately. But another part of him overshadowed that need, reminding him of his own worth. At the moment, he felt less than the dirt he laid in. He didn’t deserve their kindness. Not after what he had done.

Link sighed, turning his gaze away. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” he dismissed, his voice emotionless.

Symin cocked his head. “You sure?” he said, jiggling the boxes. “Made it myself. My mother’s recipe: fried rice and wild greens. Purah threw some homemade candy in there, too.” When Link didn’t reply, he sighed, coaxing him gently, “You ought to eat something, Link. It’ll do you good.”

Link didn’t want to argue. It just wasn’t in him. And it seemed Symin wouldn’t take no for an answer. As Link thought it over, the aroma of the food carried over to him, enticing his senses. Earthy mushrooms, sweet, steamed carrots. Fried eggs and salt. It breathed a bit of life into him, rousing his stomach.

In the end, Link gave in. He didn’t want to battle with his stomach, either. “All right,” he relented, easing himself up.

Symin smiled. Gesturing to the ground, he proposed, “Can we sit with you?”

Link hesitated, his sludgy fingers tightening against the grass. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this, but forced himself to go along with it. As long as he kept his emotions in check, he — rather, _they_ — should be fine. He hoped.

Before he could change his mind, Link replied, his voice shaky, “Sure.”

He sat up, crossing his legs and his arms, tucking his Malice as close to his body as he could. As he did so, Symin and Purah came around, pushing away a sword or two to give themselves room. Symin sat across from Link. Purah meanwhile, seated herself right beside Symin, a fair distance away from Link. It pulverized Link’s heart. He hadn’t forgotten the terror he had struck into her earlier. His head hung, heavy with guilt.

Once they were situated, there was a brief pause. Symin glanced at the objects littered about, his eyes ultimately drifting to the fresh patch of Malice smeared around Link’s neck.

Symin’s lips pursed. “No luck, huh?” he asked quietly.

Link’s chest tightened, his Malice tensing. He shook his head.

Symin searched through the burned grass, trying to find the right words. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He thought for a moment before adding, “I know that’s… easier said than done. This is new for you. It is for all of us. But we’ll figure this out, Link.”

As he spoke, Link’s eyes flicked up toward him. He couldn’t fathom how, in the midst of everything that was happening, Symin could be so supportive. So hopeful, reassuring. It was astounding.

Symin went on, “For now, let’s just eat, okay? You look like you need it. Here.”

He held out one of the bento boxes to Link, offering him another smile above the steaming food. Link shivered for some reason. He carefully took the box from him, ensuring he used his Malice-free hand.

“Thank you,” Link murmured.

“You’re very welcome.”

Link set the box in his lap and faced his meal. It looked and smelled incredible. In one compartment of the box sat a pile of rice tossed with dark, leafy greens, diced carrots, chunks of scrambled eggs, and meaty mushroom slices. In another, a handful of amber-colored pearls of hard candy. They smelled sweet, like honey. A pair of chopsticks sat on the side, awaiting him.

“All right, well, eat up — if you like it,” Symin mused.

The three of them ate in silence. Whether it was because the food was wonderful or they were avoiding conversation was unclear. Link’s head hung during their meal, his eyes staring into nothing as he ate in an almost robotic fashion. Thankfully, the food was a welcome distraction from the harrowing thoughts that swirled in his skull. But he couldn’t escape them forever. When he was able to see the bottom of his bento box, his mind began storming again.

He set his chopsticks down. Purah and Symin gradually put down their utensils as well, awaiting something. Only they weren’t sure what. There was a long stretch of silence as Link stared into the lingering grains of rice in his box, the food sitting like a rock in his stomach.

“...Is it true?” he finally croaked out.

Symin and Purah exchanged a split-second glance. “Is what true?” Symin asked.

Link’s shoulders sagged. He wondered, his voice weak, “Did I die in the Shrine?”

Symin and Purah visibly cringed. It took Symin a moment to gather his thoughts and pull himself together. He sighed, his eyes falling to the grass. “...The Shrine’s logs pointed to that, yes,” he muttered solemnly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It… it couldn’t save you. Your injuries were too great.”

So it was true, then. Goddesses above, it was true. Link’s spine rattled as the thought of it seeped like poison deep into his psyche, curdling his blood. All at once, his body felt foreign to him, uncomfortable, like he had been forced inside it. Shoving away the gruesome thought, he swallowed down a wave of nausea that spontaneously bubbled up in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured.

“I…” Symin began to say. But he cut himself off as he beheld Link before him — shaking, his eyes aglow with pain. Symin sighed again, grasping for words. “I didn’t know how to say it,” he mourned.

Symin tore his gaze away from Link and to Purah for support, but she lowered her head. Wetting his lips, Symin admitted, “We didn’t handle things very well back there. _W-we,_ not _you,_ Link. You reacted as well as we all would have if we were in your shoes.” He shook his head, forcing himself to look Link in the eye. “We had no idea things would turn out like this. We should have handled things better and for that, Link, I’m sorry — on behalf of all of us.”

Link and Symin stared at each other for a moment before Link’s heavy head fell into his hands. Part of him was washed with bittersweet relief at the confirmation of his fears. The news wasn’t comforting by any means, but it was a welcome, solid fact as he drowned in a sea of questions. Symin’s sincere words somehow managed to touch him as well, breaking through his disturbing reality. He truly meant what he said, and Link could tell that Purah and Maz Koshia meant it as well, even if they weren’t saying it themselves.

Link fully understood that this wasn’t their fault, though the notion of it all still sickened him. But he knew that _he_ had blame in the matter. His emotions had gotten the best of him, and that had nearly cost him his allies. It nearly cost Maz Koshia his life. Symin may not have blamed him for his reactions, but Link did. He owed his due apologies — and more — for flying off the handle as badly as he had.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” Link said, a pang of regret stinging his heart. “You didn’t deserve to be yelled at. I just… I-I couldn’t even think…”

“It’s okay. Given what you’re going through, I don’t blame you for it,” Symin reassured him. “No one does.” He held Link’s eyes earnestly, asking, “Can you forgive us for failing you?”

A frown found Link’s lips. He shook his head, stating, “You didn’t fail me, Symin. It’s… it’s all right.”

Symin’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m very glad to hear you say that,” he breathed. “I promise you, we’ll figure this out. Together. And from now on, no more secrets.” He paused, swallowing. He exchanged a glance with Purah, their eyes hardening. Symin then turned back to Link, reiterating, “No more secrets, no matter how bad they are.”

Link wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but he was thankful that that was on the table, now. Ultimately, he was just relieved that, despite everything, the bridge between him and the Sheikah hadn’t been as thoroughly destroyed as he imagined. Link had no idea what he would do without the Sheikah, especially considering recent developments. He might have been in much, much worse shape if he didn’t have them on his side.

His relief was short-lived, however. Link’s eyes fell to his Malice as it lay in his lap, his brow furrowing. “What does it all mean, then?” he wondered darkly. “How am I even here? I don’t understand it.”

Symin scratched his head. “We were actually wanting to discuss that together,” he said, his eyes drifting to the hilltop above them. “Once we get your biometrics back, we might have a bit of a better picture to work with. But it’s still in the works... We’ll just have to wait for it in the meantime. But when we have it, we’ll get to work cracking this.” He snorted. “It’s been quite a morning — we could all use a bit of a break until then, I think.”

It only then dawned on Link that, indeed, he had only met Purah and Symin that morning. It felt like a century ago. So much had happened already — and it was only in the afternoon. He had no idea what else awaited them as the day went on. He was almost afraid to face it. But he had allies, now. He had friends, people that understood him — for better or worse. Perhaps facing whatever came, alongside them, wouldn’t prove too unbearable. He supposed he would just have to find out.

“All right,” Link agreed softly, nodding.

Conversation faltered, then. They all stared at the grass, unsure of how to go on. They didn’t have much else to do but wait for the data to come back. As they sat for a moment in silence, Symin’s eyes drifted toward Purah. She squirmed where she sat, wringing her hands as if she wanted to say something. But she kept whatever-it-was bottled up. Feeling Symin’s gaze, she glanced up. He gave her a pitied look. They both turned their gazes upon Link, watching him as he stared emptily into his Malice, his mind clouded.

For a few long seconds, Purah sat, clenching her little fists. Gathering her voice, she spat out, “Symin — can you give us a minute?”

Link and Symin jumped at her words, Link’s head snapping up. Symin, brows raised, gave a slow nod. “I’ll, er, go wash up,” he said, gathering up the bento boxes and utensils. His eyes lingered upon Link for a second before he got to his feet, swiveling. He proceeded to walk around the edge of the shore toward the far side of the lake, leaving the two of them alone.

When his footsteps had faded away, a tremendous blanket of silence smothered Link and Purah. It was almost palpable. Neither of them spoke for what felt like ages as their gazes wandered between everything but each other. Link, his skin itching, eventually snuck a peek at Purah — her lips were pressed into a thin line, sweat beading on her forehead. Something was eating her up inside.

Just as he was about to ask her what was wrong, she finally broke her silence.

“I was there that day,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Link blinked, his brow furrowing. “What?” he wondered.

Purah kept her gaze fixed into the grass. Her eyes swam with memory, her face twisted against the images piercing her mind. “I was there,” she repeated. “At the castle, the day this all started.”

Link’s heart gave two nervous thumps before Purah took in a deep breath and poured out her anxieties upon him, spiriting him away to that dreadful day.

“It had been like any other day,” she began. “We were out on the lawn, doing routine Guardian testing. Things were looking promising; they were moving, they were… _alive._ It was amazing.” Her eyes glittered with fondness at the memory before she suddenly winced. “One minute, everything was fine, and the next… the ground st-started to shake. At our feet, this… _darkness…_ gushed out of the grass, like the earth was _bleeding._ It became this huge shadow, swirling around the castle — it blotted out the sun.”

Her voice began to shake as she went on, “It didn’t take me long to realize what was happening, but I still couldn’t believe it. And then... that roar — ” She shrunk in on herself, her hands flying to her ears. “ _Goddess,_ that roar. It’s haunted me for a hundred years. I hear it in my sleep, sometimes. The beast… he l-latched onto the Guardians — made them _his.”_ She gulped. Hard. She then whispered, her voice tiny, “And then they came for us.”

Ice shot into Link’s blood as he listened. He remembered envisioning this harrowing story when King Rhoam had told him of the Great Calamity, but this… this was so much worse, for some reason. Link suddenly found his mind surging with flashes of smog-choked skies, raging fires. Hulking shadows ravaging a township. But he couldn’t tell if he was truly remembering or just imagining it all.

But Purah remembered. The mere act of retelling it was ripping her apart. She stammered, her little body shaking, “All at once, everything I had done for the kingdom — all of my research, all of my service… it was _worthless._ The relics I had loved so much became killing machines that I couldn’t control.” She pinched her eyes shut. “I watched them slaughter countless people. Neighbors, colleagues, friends… families. Knights. Men. Women, children. _Everyone._ They were incinerated. Trampled. Mauled. There were just… _rivers_ of blood everywhere I stepped.”

Link couldn’t help but flinch, disturbed at the morbid images plaguing his mind. Purah wilted, releasing a strangled breath. “The bodies piling in the streets...,” she choked out. “I ran across them to get away. I wasn’t a scientist, anymore, I was a child. A coward. Hylia forgive me — I ran.”

The air weighed upon them more heavily than before, absolutely crushing them into the grass. Neither of them moved or spoke for a long, painful moment. Purah eventually dragged her bloodshot, tear-filled gaze up to Link. She gaped at him as if seeing him for the first time, eyes wide as she scoured his bone mask, his third eye, the Malice coating his arm. Link stiffened, his heart racing.

“And you don’t remember a thing,” Purah gasped. “I envy you, Link, I really do. I wish I could forget what I saw that day.” She shivered, hugging herself. “I… I wish I could forget what I saw in the Shrine... W-when I saw that stuff — that _poison_ — burst out of you, I just — I was _there,_ again. Helpless. Watching them all die. W-watching Maz Koshia — !”

She broke off, her lungs hitching as an onslaught of horror tore through her. Unable to hold herself together any longer, her voice shattered, her words spilling out of her, “I got so scared, I-I couldn’t even look at you — I know it’s n-not your fault, but I couldn’t do it. You didn’t deserve that! To be treated like that _beast!_ I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, Link!”

Purah crumbled into sobs, tears flooding down her face. Link’s heart crushed into nothing as he watched her completely unravel. Without thinking, he got to his knees and crawled over to her, gingerly reaching out with his normal hand in efforts to comfort her.

“Purah…”

He never got the chance to even touch her before she threw herself into his side. She buried her face in his tunic, clinging to it. His throat clenching, he tucked her closer, holding her tight while she broke down in his embrace.

So that was why she had been so skittish. A stab of guilt pierced Link at the realization that he had played a part in rekindling her bottled-up fears. Her fears of Calamity Ganon. Tears stung his eyes, but he soldiered through them. He didn’t know what to say to comfort the poor girl. He could barely process all that she had told him. What she had seen… nobody should have had to bear. Not for a day. Certainly not for a hundred years.

All he could do was let her cry it out. As he cradled her, he didn’t for one second hold her frightened treatment of him against her. He completely understood her reasons. When he finally found his voice, he murmured, “It’s okay, Purah… I would have done the same thing. I’m sorry you had to go through that…”

Purah hiccoughed, sniffling. She pulled her face out of his sodden tunic, looking up at him through the tears smeared against her glasses. “You shouldn’t be sorry. You went through it, too.”

“I know. But I can’t remember it — you said it yourself,” Link replied, his voice low. “I hate that I can’t remember. I wish that I could.” Purah blinked at that. Link’s gaze fell upon his Malice, a scowl finding his brow. “I wish I could remember what I did wrong.”

Purah looked hurt. “Link, w-what are you saying? You did nothing wrong. You fought. Hard. It was… just too much.”

Link shook his head. “No, _something_ went wrong. Maybe if I knew what it was, maybe then we would know what to do…?” He closed his Malice-laced fingers into a fist. “Maybe then… I wouldn’t be like this — I wouldn’t have scared you.”

Purah reared back a little, looking upon him with a disturbed sense of shock. She wiped at her eyes. “Link, we had no way of knowing that… _this_ would happen,” she said, gesturing to his Malice. “He took us by surprise. You’re not to blame for this.”

Link snorted. Something came over him, then — doubts began to creep out from the corners of his mind, darkening his thoughts. He was so taken up by his dark musings that he didn’t notice the Sheikah Slate warm slightly on his hip.

“You sure about that?” Link murmured. Purah’s brows raised. He frowned. “You saw those logs. I died in that Shrine, Purah. I failed. W-what if I didn’t want to fight anymore? What if I just gave up? What if I let this happen?”

She shook her head. “You don’t know that, Link.”

“You don’t either.”

“Yes, I do,” Purah retaliated. She poked Link’s chest, reaffirming, “I know it because that isn’t like you. I knew you.” Link stiffened at her words. Blinking rapidly, Purah corrected herself, “I mean — I _know_ you, Link. You wouldn’t just let this happen. You’re not a quitter. Not then, not now. I mean, you’re _here,_ aren’t you? If you weren’t… then that would mean you _had_ given up, right?”

Link paused to consider that. In spite of all the obstacles that had stacked up against him, he supposed he _had_ made strides to get where he was. He had risen from the Shrine of Resurrection. Risen from his own death. He had listened to King Rhoam’s wishes, fought a Yiga Clansman, traveled with a monk. Now, he was working alongside the Sheikah to understand his… condition. After all of that, he certainly couldn’t say he had given up, could he?

“I guess that makes sense…” Link murmured.

He began to feel a glimmer of hope, but it was fleeting. A darker part of him was unconvinced. He and Purah exchanged a wide-eyed glance before Link turned away, his doubts creeping in further as he strained to think back, to possibly find some shred of memory to prove — or disprove — his fears.

Purah, growing concerned at his cynicism, reached up and pulled his face back toward hers, searching through it. Her eyes then trailed down him, past his Malice, until they landed on his tunic. Reaching out her hand, she pressed it into his side till he could feel her palm against his skin. Her touch gave him goosebumps.

She smiled faintly at his warmth, the gentle rising of his ribs as he breathed. “You’re here... It’s still _you,”_ she said tenderly. She peered into his glowing eyes. “You’re still our Champion, Link. No matter what happens.”

He swallowed the bitter taste coating his mouth. “You really believe that?” he murmured.

“I do,” she replied. “And you should, too. You could stand to believe in yourself a bit, hero. We do. _She_ does.”

Link’s heart fluttered. He knew who she meant. How could he forget? His shoulders fell. “...I know,” was all he could manage.

Purah gave him a small smile and bumped his elbow with her fist. “Chin up, then, Linky. Things may be… kinda scary… but that doesn’t mean it’s over. Not yet. Not while you’re still kicking. We’ll make it through. We’ll beat this.”

Link’s heart warmed at that. “Thanks, Purah,” he murmured. “I think I needed to hear that…”

“Anytime, hero,” she replied sweetly. Sighing, she dried her cheeks with her sleeve, adding, “Thanks for listening.”

Link smiled at her. “Anytime, Director.”

Their exchange had, somehow, both soothed and exhausted them both. They sat in silence for a while, listening to nature around them. Link went quiet, his eyes on the water. As he found himself lost in the echoes of their conversation, Purah unconsciously ran her finger against his tunic, along a distinct, raised line of threading that neither of them had noticed.

Purah’s brows crinkled as the threading began to jog her memory. “Huh,” she mused, peering closer at it. “I don’t remember this.”

Link blinked himself out of his daze. “Remember what?” he asked, his gaze finding her hand where it rested on his abdomen, above his hip bone.

“This, right here,” Purah said, pointing it out to him. It was a long line of threadwork, several inches in length, the same cerulean as his tunic. “This used to be completely shredded. Looks like my sister patched it up.” Purah nodded in awe. “She did a pretty good job, actually.”

Link blinked again. His brain had begun to itch for some reason. In the back of his mind, he remembered Impa mentioning that she had kept his tunic for safekeeping. Since she was the one who gave it to him, Purah’s words made sense. The more he thought on it, the more the fragments of the past began to click together in his mind. Purah said that she didn’t remember the repair work Impa had done. If Impa kept the tunic after the Great Calamity and repaired it then, then that would mean that Purah was one of the last ones to see the tunic in its ruined state.

“...You were the one who brought me to the Shrine of Resurrection, right?” Link wondered, squinting.

“Yeah. Me and Robbie, an old colleague of mine,” Purah replied. “When you were brought to us in Kakariko, you were in miserable shape. You were covered in blood and dirt, but the worst of it was _there.”_ She poked the stitchwork again, her head cocking. “Not sure what happened to you, but I’m impressed Impa managed to get all the blood out. It was bad.”

As Purah spoke, Link’s head suddenly began to swim. But before he had the chance to process the information swishing around in his mind, a sudden chirp sounded from Purah. They both jumped, their attentions flying to her back.

“What was that?” Link wondered.

Purah’s eyes went wide. She shimmied her arms out of the field bag she still had slung on her back, setting it down. Unclasping it, she reached in and removed the Slate Lite. It was giving off blue light in gentle pulses, chirping at them.

“That, my friend, was the sound of your data coming back...” Purah said.

“You mean it’s done?!” Link gasped, giving a start.

Purah didn’t immediately reply. She ran her finger along the Slate Lite’s screen, her eyes skimming over the dense block of Sheikah glyphs shining up at her. “Oh, it’s done, all right,” she finally said. “Look at that…!” She glanced up to Link, a glint of trepidation in her eye. “...You ready for this?”

In spite of the sudden churning in his gut, Link firmed his lips, giving a strong nod. “Yes.”

“That’s the Linky I know,” Purah beamed, smirking. Gesturing to his Malice, she added, “C’mon, let’s find out what makes you tick.” Purah quickly cleaned off her glasses and stood, giving herself a motivational double fist-pump. She then donned her field bag and turned toward the lake, hollering, “SYMIN!”

They spotted him across the water, kneeling by the shoreline. His head snapped up as he was scrubbing off bento boxes.

Purah brandished the Slate Lite and pointed to it, shouting, “DATA’S HERE! LET’S GO!”

Symin shot to his feet. “Coming!” he cried, gathering up the dishes and darting over.

As he made his way to them, Link stood on quivering knees. His hand automatically flew to his sludgy forearm, holding it tightly, a bloom of anxiety swelling in his chest. At long last, they were going to have some clear answers. He almost couldn’t believe it. A part of him wanted nothing to do with the truth — the news of his death hadn’t exactly been comforting — but he knew that not knowing was foolhardy. He had to know. He couldn’t afford not to. Ready or not, it was time.

When Symin joined them, he wore an odd mixture of excitement and dread on his face. Tucking the bento boxes under his arm, he gathered next to Purah and took a peek at the Slate Lite. His eyes lit up with the abundance of data on the screen.

“This’ll be interesting…” he hummed. Looking up, he gestured for them to move. “C’mon, Maz Koshia will want to have a look at this.”

Without hesitation, the trio set off at a brisk walk for the lab. As they headed up the hill, Link couldn’t help but grow nervous at Symin’s mention of the monk’s name. He was reminded of the state Maz Koshia had been in when he implored him to go to the lake. The image of him draped over the pedestal, breath ragged and his arms dangling worthlessly, made Link shudder.

“How is he?” Link asked quietly, his eyes on his feet.

There was a brief pause before Symin muttered, “Not good…”

Link swallowed, shooting Purah a worried look. Her expression was grim as she hugged the Slate Lite close to herself. “There were six burst fractures in his neck,” she explained. “His spinal cord was crushed. We did our best to patch him up, but... he’s paralyzed, Link. I’m sorry.”

Link recoiled and nearly tripped, his heart bleeding with guilt inside him. His Malice gave a sudden _thump,_ his hand flying to it.

“Oh, goddess — ” Link wheezed.

Before he could descend into full-on horror at himself, Symin added, wincing, “There’s something else, too…”

But something stole everyone’s attention before Symin could elaborate. They were nearing the lab. The doors were closed. Above the brushing of their feet against the grass, another series of sounds carried through the air, startling them. Crashing. Glass breaking. It was coming from inside.

Grinding to a halt on the doorstep, Link, Symin, and Purah all exchanged confused looks, listening. More crashing. Something spilling onto the floor. Someone was in the lab. Wearing shared expressions of alarm, Link and Symin made for the doors and threw them open, rushing inside.

Indeed, there _was_ someone in the lab. But it wasn’t an intruder. They all froze when they beheld Maz Koshia standing at the table in the heart of the room, his back to them. Symin’s coat was bundled around his neck in a makeshift brace secured with twine, and he was muttering to himself. The floor was littered with mountains of paper and broken glass vials. The monk was clearing off the table, shoving away books, boxes of junk, and the venipuncture machine to make room for a slew of notepads, pencils, a map of Hyrule. As he worked, his movements were jerky and stuttered, as if he were fighting against himself to move.

“Maz Koshia?!” Purah blurted, eyes bulging.

The monk sucked in a gasp and jolted as if he had been struck by lightning. He slapped his hands against the tabletop, his skeleton going stiff. But he didn’t turn around to face them. It went uncomfortably quiet for a moment as everyone gawked at him. When he finally spoke, he didn’t sound like himself. He sounded… strange.

“Tell me, Link… Is this what it feels like?” he marveled, his voice low and dripping with disturbed awe. “To carry him inside you…?”

Something within Link squirmed at his words. “W-what are you talking about?” he stammered.

Symin interjected before the monk could reply. “Maz Koshia, what are you doing?! _How_ are you doing it?! You were paralyzed, how is this — wait.” Symin shook his head, his face flushing. “No, don’t tell me…?”

Maz Koshia’s hands curled into fists. “I don’t have to, Symin,” he mourned. “You already know.”

“What is he talking about?!” Link said, crowding Symin for answers. “You said no more secrets.”

Sweat glistened on Symin’s forehead. “We were going to tell you — ” he stammered.

“Tell me _what?!”_ Link fired back, struggling to keep his voice level.

“Link,” Maz Koshia said. Link whirled his head around toward him, eyes wide. The monk’s posture sagged as he leaned over the table. “I’m afraid there is no easy way to say this…”

“Say _what?_ Please, just tell me,” Link begged.

With some difficulty, Maz Koshia straightened, gripping the table and carefully turning himself around. He had reapplied his veil, masking his face. His chest heaved with his labored, scratchy breaths. Hesitating for a moment, he pushed himself off the table with a grunt and ambled towards them, coming to a stop before Link.

Link, consumed with dread, cowered in his shadow. Without a word, the monk sunk to his knees, coming eye-level with Link. He reached out and laid a hand on Link’s clean, non-Malice-coated shoulder, releasing a sigh through his nose. His touch sent a zing through Link’s body. Maz Koshia raised his other hand to the knot of twine securing his makeshift neck brace, his fingers shaking. Link could only stare, speechless, as Maz Koshia pulled at the knot, untying it, and dragged both his veil and the brace off, exposing his face and neck.

What Link saw gored a hole in his stomach. The monk’s expression was somber, dejected, his face smothered with burns. Something dark dribbled out of his nose and mouth. Through the scraps of his ancient flesh clinging to his neck — which had been cut open and pieced together — an uncanny magenta light shone, emanating from the thick sludge smothering his throat and naked vertebrae.

Link’s world was wrenched from underneath him. Something was morbidly wrong with the monk — and he knew exactly what. His mind surged with the grisly truth; when Maz Koshia had attacked him in the Shrine… Link’s Malice had fought back. And it was staring him right in the face.

Link choked, his lungs spontaneously pulverizing. “No — !” He shook his head wildly, his heart plunging into the roiling sea of panic that used to be his stomach. “No, no — th-this isn’t happening! Oh my goddess — !”

Link’s hands flew to his head, his fingers burrowing into his hair. He tried to pitch back, to get away, but Maz Koshia tightened his grip on his shoulder, holding him fast.

“Link — ” the monk tried to say, but Link fought against him, digging his heels into the floor, gasping. “Link, it’s not what you — ”

But Link wasn’t listening. His ears filled with a high-pitched screeching as he spiraled in his horror, unable to pry his gaze from the Malice dripping down the monk’s throat. _His Malice._ Link’s breath surged through his bared teeth, his head swimming as he wheezed out incomprehensible nonsense. He knew what was coming. Memories of his previous victim bled into his frantic thoughts. His stomach rolled, bile shooting up his throat.

As Link struggled, Maz Koshia’s eyes flickered to the Malice on his arm. It glared with magenta light, pulsating violently with Link’s skyrocketing heartbeat. Symin and Purah scattered at the sight of it. Link couldn’t afford to have it spread any further — none of them could. Maz Koshia finally yanked Link toward him and slapped his hands against his jawline, anchoring his face forward.

“Link, look at me, look at me — I’m fine,” he said firmly, shaking Link slightly to rein in his panic.

Link squirmed, his eyes widening. “ _N-no, you’re not! I gave it to you, oh my_ _g_ _oddess, it’s going to — !”_

Maz Koshia shook his head, seemingly reading his explosive thoughts. “I promise you, I’m fine! I won’t end up like that Yiga. Trust me.”

Link’s face contorted at the monk’s words. The memory of Izer, dissolving into a puddle of Malice, scalded his brain as he stared at him. Link was bracing himself for the same to happen to the monk; he was expecting it to.

“ _W-what do you mean?!”_ Link cried. “ _How can you say that?!”_

The monk’s glowing eyes held him intently, but his pained expression betrayed his confidence. He swallowed, his hand finding his throat. “Because it has… healed me, somewhat… Sealed the damage in my neck.”

Link stopped cold. He choked on his voice, gaping at the monk.

“How is that possible?!” Purah sputtered, coming around to get a better look. “Malice is…” she trailed off, glancing at the burns on the monk’s face. “...destructive.”

Maz Koshia’s head sunk. “Believe me, I know of its power. It may have glued together my broken bones, but I can still feel it... taking its toll.” He shivered, clinging to his throat, where he wretched a little. “I can feel _him…_ slithering inside me…”

The room seemed to grow colder. Symin and Purah cringed away slightly. Link, heart shattering, lost whatever strength he had and sunk to his knees, his body shaking. Maz Koshia released Link and lowered his hands, dropping them in his lap.

Out of breath, Link doubled over, drilling his fingers into his head. Tears stung his eyes. “ _This is all my fault…!”_ he whispered.

Maz Koshia frowned. “It surged down my throat back in the Shrine,” he explained, his voice gritty. “You didn’t mean for it to. This was an accident, Link.”

“But I did this to you!” Link fired back, his voice strained. “It came from _me!”_

“You’re wrong,” Maz Koshia urged him.

His voice had donned a sharp edge, startling Link, making his breath hitch. His head snapped up. Link found himself speechless as he knelt beneath the weary gaze of Maz Koshia.

The monk continued, cocking his head. “This came from Ganon, not you.” Looking upon Link’s Malice, he added, “I cannot say that I understand this… poison... perfectly, but I do know this — Malice is, for all intents and purposes, Ganon’s pure, raw hatred, so concentrated it takes corporeal form. It is _emotion,_ above all else.” He then turned his gaze on Link’s face. “True, you possess some of it, but it is not _of_ you. It is merely _inside_ you. To that end, I hypothesize that the emotions of whomever bears it might influence its properties, somewhat.”

Link’s Malice tingled at the monk’s words; the Sheikah Slate hummed, listening. Oblivious to it, Link breathed, grasping his Malice, “I don’t understand.”

Maz Koshia raised his hands, explaining, “In the Shrine, when I… attacked you — you were afraid, weren’t you? You didn’t want to fight. You pushed me away.” Link searched the monk’s face, sweat crawling down his neck. Eyes glittering with inspiration, the monk continued, “And then, when you faced that Yiga Clansman — what were you feeling then?”

Link paused, his mind carrying him back to that night. His panic at the monk’s news dissolved somewhat, burned away by the memory of his rage that had ignited his brutal attack on Izer. “I-I was angry,” Link murmured. “He hurt Paya, terrified her, stole the Slate. I… I _hated_ him.”

Maz Koshia nodded earnestly. “And what did your Malice do to him?”

Link swallowed. “ _It destroyed him.”_

“Exactly,” Maz Koshia agreed. “Emotions must influence how Malice manifests in its targets. You were afraid of _me,_ but didn’t wish me dead. You were only defending yourself. That must be why I’m — ” Maz Koshia cut off suddenly, doubling over to cough. Everyone jumped, rushing forward to help him, but he straightened, waving them off, gaining some control over his lungs. He wiped at his mouth, finishing, “...Why I am like this.”

“That’s insane…” Purah whimpered.

Symin stepped forward, his brow creased. “But Malice is still Malice — look at what it’s doing to you, Maz Koshia. Why isn’t it doing the same to Link?”

The monk shook his head, eying Link’s third eye and bone mask. “That, I am still trying to figure out…”

“Well, maybe this might tell us something?” Purah suggested, holding up the Slate Lite. “Link’s data came back.”

The monk’s head lifted. He perked up a bit. “Has it, now?”

Purah nodded, extending the Lite to him. “Here, have a look.”

Maz Koshia took the device, running his eyes over its screen. Eyes tightening, he straightened, shakily heaving himself to his feet. He then gestured to the table. “Come, let’s gather there. I… I need to take notes.”

Symin and Purah dashed across the sea of papers and junk on the floor, gathering a few extra chairs and pulling them up. Maz Koshia set off at a stiff amble toward the table, dragging his feet. Link shook off his horror-induced paralysis and jumped up after noticing the monk’s labored movements. Link rocketed forward, shadowing him. It appeared that, though the monk’s neck had been healed slightly, the repairs were crude at best. Halfway to the table, the monk nearly toppled over, but thankfully Link was there to catch him.

“Thank you,” Maz Koshia murmured.

Link returned his thanks with a worried nod, helping him to a chair. Once everyone had found a seat, they all turned toward Maz Koshia as he poured over the Slate Lite in complete silence. Symin hovered a pencil over a fresh notepad; Purah leaned in eagerly, her mouth hanging open. Link, meanwhile, balled his fists on the tabletop, endeavoring to calm his churning gut.

Maz Koshia studied the Slate Lite for a while, one hand clamped over his mouth. Finally, he gave a humorless snort. “That clever beast…” he jeered, shaking his head, setting down the Slate Lite.

“W-what does it say?” Link asked, his voice weak.

Maz Koshia’s gaze clouded over as he looked Link dead in the eye. “Your body breathes with Malice; not a single cell isn’t saturated with it — osteocytes, muscle and organ tissue, blood cells, everything. It runs deep into your very DNA.” He gestured to Link’s crimson hair, to his bone mask. “That certainly explains your physiological changes…”

The Sheikah Slate warmed with glee, but Link was too stunned to notice. His face twitched. A thousand questions buzzed in his skull like wasps, but he couldn’t find the acuity to voice anything but a hitch of his breath. Maz Koshia, cocking his head, leaned across the table, taking Link by his clean wrist and pushing his sleeve up.

“Incredibly… it’s not a detriment to you at all,” the monk marveled, turning Link’s skeletal hand over. “Forgive me, Link — ” he quickly added. Everyone jumped when Maz Koshia shot up from his chair and pinned down Link’s arm, snatching up a knife hidden under a notepad. Without provocation, he dragged its blade across Link’s wrist, slicing him open.

Link jolted and cried out. Black and magenta-flecked blood gushed out of his wound. It ran down his skin, staining the table. Throwing down the knife, Maz Koshia seized Link’s Malice-slathered hand. In spite of the sizzling of his skin, the monk thrust Link’s Malice onto his wound, holding it there. Both of their teeth gritted. After a few seconds, Maz Koshia retracted his smoking hand; thick gobs of Malice dripped from it, eating through his flesh. Everyone’s gazes were fixed on Link’s wrist after he pulled his Malice away — at the knife wound that suddenly didn’t exist.

Link, Purah, and Symin all took their chins back, their eyes bulging. “It’s gone…!” Symin gasped.

Maz Koshia agreed, his voice grim, “If anything… it’s _sustaining_ you.”

Link, struggling to breathe, stared at his trembling hands, his gaze flying between his skeleton glowing through his skin and the pulsating nightmare coating his arm. “Why is this happening to me?” he murmured.

Maz Koshia went stiff. “...Because this was deliberate,” he answered. He withered, his voice weak as he went on, “He wanted this to happen. The Shrine… it couldn’t save you.”

Link’s stomach soured with dread at yet another confirmation of his demise. Hearing it come from Maz Koshia’s lips somehow made it even more disturbing. Everyone jumped when Maz Koshia released a roar of rage, smashing his fist into the table.

“Confound it all, it couldn’t save you… my life’s work!” the monk hissed. He breathed heavily for a moment before his anger fizzled, a weak scowl finding his brow. “But The Beast could — he brought you back from the dead.”

A ghastly silence settled upon them. Finally, Link voiced what everyone was thinking.

“ _Why?”_

The silence lingered like smog. Link’s question hung heavily in the air. Maz Koshia sank into his chair. He shook his head, absolutely devastated by his lack of knowledge. “I don’t know,” he lamented. “For the life of me, I cannot fathom his motives.” Shrugging, he droned, “He succeeded — he killed you. Why bring you back to life at all? When the Princess fell — and she will fall — who would stand against him, if you were dead? His victory was absolute.”

Link’s blood curdled at the thought of Zelda falling before Calamity Ganon. He couldn’t even imagine it. The room fell quiet again as their minds all collectively ground to scrape up some kind of answer to such a daunting question.

Eventually, Symin contemplated aloud, “Well… think about it… What does he have _now_ that he didn’t have last time?” He pointed to Link. “You.”

Link’s heart fluttered. The Sheikah Slate warmed on his hip again at Symin’s words. Link noticed it then. But he never got the chance to look into it further.

Brows furrowing, Symin rambled on, “What if… what if Ganon’s planning something else this time?”

Link shifted in his seat. “What do you mean, _something else?_ What else could there be?”

Symin threw up his hands, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know, I just thought that, maybe, with the princess holding him back, he’d, I don’t know, restrategize?”

“But to what end?” Maz Koshia asked. “Why even resurrect Link at all if he meant to kill him?” The monk’s train of thought slowed, his eyes falling on Link’s Malice. “How did he even get inside you in the first place?”

There was another pause as everyone considered that. It was Link and Purah who suddenly froze, a realization consuming both of them at the same time. They locked eyes for a fleeting second before their gazes flew to Link’s tunic.

“Oh my goddess, I think I know — !” Purah murmured. “Everyone, look at this!”

She hopped onto the table and clambered over to Link. He read her mind, getting to his feet. Symin and Maz Koshia watched as Link pulled his tunic taut, Purah tracing her finger along the line of stitchwork they had discovered earlier.

Purah explained, “This, right here — this used to be a bloody hole. I saw it myself. Impa stitched it back together. What if…?”

Maz Koshia’s eyes widened as Purah spoke. He got to his feet as well, reaching across the table. He tugged Link’s tunic up, exposing his abdomen. There, barely visible against his semi-transparent skin, was the odd, triple-pronged scar the monk had noticed during Link’s examination.

Maz Koshia drank in the scar, his mind surging. “That shape…!” he breathed.

Without warning, Maz Koshia whirled around, scanning the lab frantically. Like a man possessed, he began to tear through the piles of paper and other refuse cluttering the floor. He upended a box of old machine parts before he finally found his prize. Snatching it up, he scrambled back over to Link, tripping and bumping the table. Link went still, morbidly curious as to what the monk was doing. He finally laid eyes on what Maz Koshia had dug up and was now holding up to his skin.

It was the dislodged foot of a Guardian. Link recognized the shape and the talons. Sweat formed on his forehead at the sight of it for some reason. They all stared at the foot, their blood chilling. Peering closer, their eyes traveled to the distinct scar on Link’s abdomen. Its sharp points matched the toes of the Guardian perfectly.

Everyone’s jaws dropped. Their eyes slowly drifted upward until they met.

“A Guardian…?” Link gasped.

“Wait, you’re saying a _Guardian_ infected Link?” Symin asked, blinking rapidly.

“Perhaps…?” Maz Koshia pondered, his hand flying to his forehead. “Perhaps some of Ganon’s Malice leaked into you when it pierced your body…?”

A ghostly spike of pain jolted through Link’s gut from out of nowhere. His breath caught as he was abruptly stolen away from the lab and thrust into the shadow of a colossal figure, veins of violent crimson burning within it. It glared upon him with a hungry, boiling, unblinking eye, growing till it towered above him. But it suddenly dropped, part of it pressing into Link. His body convulsed without his control — he was wrenched out of his own head, returning to the lab.

A sudden onset of pure, paralyzing fear stopped his heart for a few moments, terror flickering along his ribs. “That was it…” Link breathed. His hand drifted to his abdomen as if covering a wound. “That was where this all started…”

“It has to be,” Purah agreed. “When Robbie and I were in Kakariko, when they brought you to us… you were barely alive. You were bleeding half to death — from _there.”_ She pointed to Link’s scar. “Something had hurt you — w-we just didn’t know what.”

“...Until now,” Maz Koshia marveled.

Even in the warmth of the room, Link had somehow broken into a cold sweat. Finally, everything was coming together. It all made sense, as disquieting as that was. But as he stewed over it all, Link couldn’t help but think back to his fight with Izer. Back to his explosive rage, where he had impaled the Yiga as easily as if he were paper. The Malice within him had punched through the Yiga in the exact same place. Link’s veins prickled at the realization. He gulped. It was as if the Malice inside him had known where to strike. It had done it before.

Link’s stomach heaved. He dropped his tunic, stepping back and crumbling into his chair. He stared emptily into the table, eyes wide and unblinking.

Everyone moved toward him, their eyes filled with concern. Maz Koshia reached out, carefully, laying a hand on Link’s shoulder. Link didn’t so much as flinch.

“Link, are you all right? I know this is a lot to process,” Maz Koshia said. When Link didn’t reply, the monk cupped Link’s cheek, pleading with him, “Talk to us. Please.”

Link barely heard Maz Koshia. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to get what was polluting him _out._

His Malice-slicked fingers curled into a fist. He looked to Maz Koshia, asking, “If it got into me, then we can get it out. Right?”

Maz Koshia’s lips pursed. He looked Link up and down, his mind already racing for a means to cure him. “There must be a way. There must be. But it won’t be easy, I can guarantee you that… Not with it soaking you through to your DNA.” His expression weakened, his eyes falling on Link’s Malice. “It is probably too late to ask this, but… I’m assuming relaxation didn’t work?”

Link’s teeth ground. “No. I tried everything. Nothing worked…” Symin and Purah gave dismal nods, affirming his words.

Maz Koshia’s shoulders slumped. “Now that we know the severity of your infection, that doesn’t surprise me.” The monk straightened, grimacing. “Then perhaps our next steps are these? Free the four Divine Beasts, reclaim the sacred sword, storm the castle, and, alongside the Princess, destroy and seal Calamity Ganon.” Cocking his head, he gestured with his palm to Link’s Malice. “Perhaps by purging the source, you can, in turn, purge it from yourself?”

Link swallowed. His mind full with the monk’s words, his hand subconsciously wandered to the Sheikah Slate as it shuddered on his hip. His brows knit together, something akin to confidence smoldering inside him. He had heard these words before, somewhere. Yes, King Rhoam had implored him with the same plan.

Nodding, Link stood, tightening his fists. “That will work,” he stated. “That will cure me.”

Maz Koshia shivered almost invisibly. “It has to,” he said.

Clearing his throat, the monk turned toward the map of Hyrule laid out on the table. “Now then, I suppose we ought to get to work, hm?” he mused.

Everyone gathered around. Maz Koshia laid his hands on the map, beginning, “Though it may not be entirely original, our plan of attack is a familiar one, Link — you must gather a few necessary tools to combat calamity.”

“The Divine Beasts?” Link asked.

“Precisely,” Maz Koshia replied. “These Divine Beasts are colossal machines — fantastic feats of engineering that dwarf, quite literally, any modern technology. It is not a wonder why Ganon took them for himself.” He continued, listing off their names, “They are Vah Ruta, Vah Rudania, Vah Medoh, and Vah Naboris. In my day, they played a vital role in subduing Calamity Ganon.” He paused, sighing. “However, they suffered a similar fate to the Guardians one hundred years ago. Ganon seized control over them, turning them against the kingdom, as well as their Champions. Since the Great Calamity, they have gone offline, lying dormant somewhere throughout the land.”

Link’s eyes widened as he studied the map. Purah, noticing his onset of alarm, reassured him, “Don’t worry, Link — we have an idea as to where they are, so don’t think you have to search the entire continent over.”

Part of Link was relieved at that. He was willing to take on this task — now, more than ever, after learning the truth — but found solace in not having to scour every corner of Hyrule.

“Quite so,” Maz Koshia agreed with a small chuckle. “Now, the Divine Beasts are indeed an important piece of this plan, Link, and you _must_ bring them back under our control. But truly, chief among these tools is the legendary sword that seals the darkness — the Master Sword.”

Link’s body locked up as his chest bloomed with something he didn’t have a name for. It radiated through him from the inside out, as warm and familiar as someone calling his name. It gave him chills. The Sheikah Slate and his Malice even shuddered slightly, though he barely noticed it for his awe at just those few words.

“The Master Sword…?” Link repeated, the words caressing his tongue with such familiarity, he couldn’t help but feel that he had kept them inside him all this time.

Maz Koshia beamed at him. “Yes. The Master Sword, the Blade of Evil’s Bane. It is a sacred sword forged by the Goddess Hylia herself. It rests here, at its pedestal in the heart of the Great Hyrule Forest,” the monk explained, placing his finger on a dense patch of trees drawn onto the map. “The sword is forever bound to the soul of the hero. It will obey none other than you — and it is the only tool with which we can pierce The Beast’s hide. After all this time… the Sword eagerly awaits the return of its master.”

Link didn’t know what to say. He had been stricken speechless.

Maz Koshia continued, “Ultimately, our plan culminates in one place: Hyrule Castle. With the Master Sword in-hand, you must march to the castle, relieve Princess Zelda of her burden. Then, with the help of the Divine Beasts, as well as her divine power, you must join forces to strike down Calamity Ganon.” His smile twitched slightly as he finished, “And, if we’re right, free you of this Malice — once and for all.”

There was a brief pause as everyone absorbed their battle plan. Finally, Maz Koshia peered deeply into Link, asking him, “What do you think, hero?”

Link wet his lips, his mind swimming with the monk’s words. “I think…” he began, his breath ballooning in his chest. “I think I can do this.”

Maz Koshia, Symin, and Purah all smiled at him. Corrupted or not, he was still their knight. Their Champion. Link.

“We know you can do this. And we are here for you every step of the way,” Maz Koshia promised. “May the Goddess smile upon you, hero.” He then pressed his palms together and bowed to Link. Symin and Purah followed.

Link smiled faintly. He returned their bow. “I won’t fail this time. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Link looked to the future with courage.

The four of them spent the majority of the day, and well into the night, planning. Pooling together everyone’s knowledge of Hyrule, they marked their map with ideal travel routes, points of interest in the wild — the Akkala Citadel, the Akkala Ancient Tech Lab, a Colosseum, the springs of Wisdom, Courage, and Power — as well as places Link ought to avoid, like the ruins of Castle Town, a bottomless swamp, and a few others. They also pinpointed approximate locations of the Divine Beasts — Vah Ruta, in Zora’s Domain; Vah Rudania, near Death Mountain; Vah Medoh, in Hebra; and Vah Naboris, in the Gerudo Desert. If the Divine Beasts were as enormous as Purah and Maz Koshia said they were, then Link believed he would have no problem finding them.

Having a plan of attack helped calm Link’s fear of the unknown somewhat. As he looked upon the map of Hyrule, he slowly came to the realization that he had a lot of ground to cover if he was to accomplish this task. Hyrule stretched farther than his mind could conceive. It was almost intimidating. But he had already come so far in a short amount of time since he rose from his tomb. This would be no easy feat, but with Purah, Symin, and Maz Koshia — and Princess Zelda, especially — on his side, he felt ready to tackle it. More ready than he had felt all day.

Eventually, well after midnight, everyone’s minds had finally been run ragged. Their eyes drooped, their brainstorming grown sluggish. Over a few yawns, Maz Koshia suggested they all retire for the night. They had much to do come the following morning. As they all shuffled off to bed, they didn’t bother cleaning up the table, leaving a veritable hurricane strewn all over the lab.

In spite of the mess, Purah found some room for them to sleep. There weren’t any extra bedrooms upstairs, so they made do with a relatively-clean corner of the lab and some extra futons. Maz Koshia was much too tall to fit under his futon, but he was nevertheless grateful. Symin and Purah, upon saying their goodnights, made their way up to their rooms, leaving Link and Maz Koshia downstairs.

The monk insisted that Link get some rest. He had had a whirlwind of a day. It didn’t take long for Link to drift off; he was utterly exhausted from the day’s events. As he slept, Maz Koshia sat on his own futon beside him, his thoughts glinting with hope as he listened to Link’s deep, drawing breaths.

And yet… a maelstrom of doubt and unease still plagued the monk. He thought in circles about everything that had happened that day, all that they had learned. Indeed, so much had happened that it filled his skull to spilling. He found himself subconsciously rubbing his neck, trying to ignore the subtle glowing of his Malice shining through his skin. Hopeful as he was in the wake of his conversation with Link, Symin, and Purah, he still found himself squirming against the subtle stirring of the Malice inside him.

Throughout it all, all he could think to himself was this — Was there more to be done? Was the plan they had put together enough? His heart shuddered with anxiety at the thought that, perhaps, they hadn't done enough. The monk agonized over it all night.

Hours later, in the inky throes of morning, Link began to stir. He grunted, his face twisting. Maz Koshia, by then half-asleep, was roused by Link’s movement. Blinking away his exhaustion, he turned his head, growing worried for a moment as the Malice coating Link’s arm glowed brighter than ever before. He was about to reach out to Link to wake him but found himself cringing back instead. Before his eyes, the Malice coating Link’s arm began to seep into his skin, retreating inside him. In a matter of seconds, Link’s arm had returned to normal, as if his Malice had never spawned. Link, still fast asleep, exhaled deeply, turning over.

Maz Koshia slumped back into the wall, astonished, whereupon he breathed a sigh of relief. He had begun to fear that Link’s exposed Malice might become permanent. All the same, dread sullied the monk’s relief. Knowing that Link’s Malice had receded — that it _could_ recede, even — was a boon. But even so, the monk fully recognized that it still lurked inside Link. At any moment, it could rear itself again.

Maz Koshia cupped his hands over his face, his mind roaring with questions and speculation. Without provocation, he broke into a brief fit of coughing, though he endeavored to stifle it so as not to wake Link. When it had passed, his throat burned. He noticed with a pang of fear a spattering of glowing magenta droplets on his pants. His breath and spine rattled as he turned to check on Link.

Still asleep. For now.

Maz Koshia swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. As he gazed upon Link, it came back to him — an idea that he had been suffering with for several hours. An idea that he believed might turn the tide in this new war of attrition that Calamity Ganon had waged… if he was only brave enough to execute it.

He knew he had to do _something._ Something more.

Ensuring Link was asleep, Maz Koshia got to his feet, silent as a breeze. Stepping over Link, he crept to the front door and eased it open, slipping out. He closed the door behind him and made for the stairs. He had to wake Purah and Symin.

They needed to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! It seems the more we learn, the higher the odds stack against Link and our group of heroes. Ganon's cunning knows no bounds. But what is he planning, exactly? Throughout this chapter, I tried to really delve deep into just how destructive Malice can be -- physically and mentally. I also dabbled in its... stranger properties. We'll find out more as the story progresses. My heart broke for Purah in this one. Gosh, I love her to death. And the revelations of Link's death and resurrection are only the tip of the iceberg. And poor Maz! He hasn't known Link that long, and yet, he's already infected. Let's just hope his theories are correct. Anyway, as always, I am very grateful for your support, your readership, and your comments. You guys are the best! Stay tuned for the next chapter! I will preface this up front: this story is pre-planned and partially pre-written. I have been writing it for a few years now. We are almost caught up to where I'm currently writing. Until then, stay tuned for daily updates. You will have to exercise some patience with me as I write further chapters, but you're all so amazing I think it'll be all right. :) Thanks again for reading, you beautiful people! Stay tuned!


	18. Devil's Tools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone, to another update of Corrupted Hero! I really hope you're enjoying the story so far. It's taking some turns that, hopefully, will surprise and delight you. This chapter especially. ;) Anyway, before I let you go, I just wanted to thank you all again for your support. You really make my day and I love seeing your comments, kudos, and such. You're all amazing! Read on, and enjoy the update!

It was the briny scent of the sea, hinted with undertones of toasted coffee grounds, that woke Link the following morning. He stirred in his futon, his eyelids peeling open as a breath of cool air caressed his face. Blinking himself awake, his bleary eyes wandered about. All around him, the lab was still, quiet, and peaceful, the window panes aglow with fresh morning light. The only sounds in the air were the wind whistling against the outside walls and the subtle humming of the Guidance Stone across the room.

Cradled in his futon, Link breathed in the pleasant cocktail of smells in the air and released a long sigh. In spite of the revelatory bombardment he had endured the day before, he had slept quite well. He was rested, refreshed in mind and body, his head clearer than it had been in what felt like ages. In the midst of his mental chaos, he almost forgot what clarity like this felt like.

Rested as he was, his shoulder was stiff for some reason. He must have slept on it wrong. He stretched, his shoulder giving a sharp _pop._ Grunting, he ironed out a grimace and turned his head toward the futon beside him.

“Good morning — !” he began.

But he cut himself off. He was about to greet Maz Koshia, only to discover that the monk’s futon was empty.

Puzzled, Link sat up, taking a closer look around. He found the lab deserted. The remnants of their planning from the night before lay untouched on the table. One of the front doors was ajar, letting in the breeze that cooled his skin and played with the corners of the papers littering the floor.

Link’s brow wrinkled. Where was everyone? Had he overslept?

Not expecting to get an answer, he murmured to himself, “What time is it?”

But an answer came. A muffled chirp chimed from underneath Link’s pillow, giving him a start. Reaching under his pillow, he pulled out the Sheikah Slate, turning it over and resting his eyes on its screen. His face twitched when he read the current time, displayed in crimson Sheikah numbers. While helpful, he nonetheless found the Slate’s attentiveness disconcerting. Especially since he hadn’t _asked_ for its help.

But he had no sooner read 7:02 AM when his attention was wrenched from the time and to his arm. Rather, what was _missing_ from his arm.

His Malice — it was gone.

Link pitched back, sucking in a gasp. In his shock, he dropped the Sheikah Slate. It hit the floorboards with a heavy _thunk._ Breathless, Link gaped at his arm for a moment, only to be pulled out of his stupefaction when the Slate made a sound he had never heard it make before. It sounded like an irritated huff, blasting out of its nonexistent nostrils. Link’s gaze flew to where the device had fallen. The Slate’s red eye was fixed on him — almost scowling at him.

 _Ouch,_ the Slate flashed at him.

Link blinked, his cheeks burning under the device’s gaze. “O-oh, sorry,” he apologized, picking up the Slate and setting it gently into his lap. Nestled with its master, the Slate purred, warming slightly.

Link suddenly froze, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. The Slate had certainly showcased some interesting personality quirks, but it had never given him _sass_ before. Slowly, he turned his eyes onto the device, almost afraid of what it might do next. Whatever Link was expecting never came, though. All was forgiven; the Slate still displayed the time for him. But there was something else radiating from it. Something that a machine shouldn’t have been capable of exuding. Perhaps… an aura of contentment? It seemed happy to be with him. Happy that they were alone.

Link had never given it much thought before, but... what exactly _was_ this thing?

A chill darted down Link’s spine at that notion, but he quickly shook it off. No, something else nagged at his mind, something that far outweighed the Slate’s affections.

Heart beginning to race, Link’s attention flew back to his arm. He pushed up his sleeve, his fingers tracing up and down his skin. He drank in every detail of his arm as if he had never seen it before. His semi-transparent skin was smooth; his radial bone shone with dull magenta light. But that was normal. _Normal._ There wasn’t a speck of Malice in sight. Just yesterday, he worried he would have to get used to living with that disgusting, pulsating nightmare stuck to his arm. But not anymore. It was gone. It was nothing short of a miracle.

A wheezy spurt of laughter escaped Link, a wave of relief soaking him through to his glowing bones. As wild as it sounded, he never thought he’d be happy to see his own skeleton. He wiggled his fingers before his face with delight.

But the smile that had taken his lips faded, his mind wandering. He had run himself ragged the day before trying to rid himself of his Malice. Now, it had disappeared without a trace. How had this happened? He had no clue, but it didn’t matter. His Malice was _gone._ He thanked any and all gods in the heavens for that.

Link’s eyes widened. He had to tell the others about this. But where were they?

Another whiff of coffee roamed into Link’s nostrils. Wait, coffee — Link gave a start, his eyes flicking to the front doors. The smell curled in on the breeze pouring through the open doorway. That familiar roasted, rustic smell was no doubt the same coffee Purah had been raving about. She and the others must have been outside somewhere.

With one final grin at his arm, Link pulled his hair back into a ponytail, snatched up the Sheikah Slate, and scrambled out of his futon. He burst through the front doors and skidded to a halt on the grass, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sunlight glaring directly into his face. Tossing his head to and fro, Link searched the hilltop for any sign of Purah, Symin, or Maz Koshia.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to search for long. “Hey! Mornin’, sunshine!” came a sunny voice. “Where’s the fire?”

Link whirled toward the source of the voice. It was Purah, seated beneath an awning jutting from the back of the lab. Symin sat beside her, alongside Maz Koshia. They were gathered around a low table laden with a loaf of bread, a bread knife, a bowl of red bean paste, and a pot of coffee, each of them sipping from a steaming ceramic mug. They all smiled at Link in spite of the dark circles hanging beneath their eyes.

But their smiles immediately slackened upon taking in Link’s lack of Malice, their eyes collectively widening. Symin choked on a mouthful of coffee. Maz Koshia cocked his head. Purah, meanwhile, sat up ramrod straight, her eyebrows hitting her bangs.

“Link! Y-your arm!” she cried, pointing to him.

Link, grinning from ear to ear, nodded and rushed toward them, beaming, “I know! It’s… it’s gone! I-I don’t know how, but it’s gone!”

Maz Koshia set down his mug and waved Link over. “Come here, Link, let me see,” he urged him.

Link obeyed, coming around and dropping to his knees before the monk. Purah and Symin leaned in closer, watching as Maz Koshia took hold of Link’s wrist. The monk ran the rough pads of his fingers along Link’s skin, his eyes scouring Link’s bones from behind his veil. As Maz Koshia examined his arm, Link couldn’t help but notice the cloth bandage wrapped around the monk’s palm. A dagger of guilt stabbed Link’s heart, but he didn’t get a chance to dwell on it.

Maz Koshia shook his head, marveling, “I don’t believe it… It’s as if the Malice was never there.” Awed for but a moment, his shoulders eventually sank, his gaze trailing up from Link’s arm and to his tunic. Reaching out, he carefully laid his palm against Link’s chest, over his heart. A shudder darted through both of them as the Malice inside them stirred.

Maz Koshia continued, his voice grim, “And yet… it still dwells within you.”

Link squirmed, his ecstasy melting away. His gaze darted between his tunic and the monk. “What are you saying? The Malice on my arm… y-you think it went back _in?_ Last time it just… melted off.”

Maz Koshia sighed, his hand wandering to his throat. He swallowed. “I saw it myself,” he replied. “Early this morning, while you slept, it… receded. Absorbed through your skin.” His eyes searched through Link’s face. “I am afraid it is not gone, Link, it is simply… slumbering.”

Link’s stomach soured. Staring into his hand, he murmured, “...Do you think it’ll ever come out again?” But as soon as he said it, he was afraid he already knew the answer.

Maz Koshia’s words were bleak when he responded, “Judging from what we have seen… and by its total saturation of your body... I would say it is inevitable. It’s only a matter of when. Like it or not, it is a part of you now, wholly and completely.”

When the monk caught the look of panicked nausea twisting Link’s face, he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. Encouragement warmed his voice as he reassured Link, “But fret not, hero. I have thought long and hard about all this.” The monk cocked his head, luring, “I think we may be able to turn this curse into a blessing yet.”

There was a brief pause. Symin and Purah exchanged an anxious glance, but Link didn’t notice. He leaned back, staring into Maz Koshia’s veil, his brows low and his eyes wide. He couldn’t process Maz Koshia’s words. Link’s condition — no, the monk had put it well; his _curse_ — was anything but a blessing. He wanted to be rid of it at any cost. And that was exactly what they had discussed the night before. Why would Maz Koshia go back on that?

Still, the monk’s tone had Link morbidly curious; he sounded mischievous, cunning. Squinting at Maz Koshia, Link wondered, “...How do you mean?”

A wicked grin spread Maz Koshia’s lips. He steepled his fingers, his voice dripping with fascination. “Think for a moment about the tool at your disposal. You have this Malice, this small fragment of Ganon — it has transformed you.” With a humorless chuckle, he gestured to his neck. “L-look at what it is doing to _me,_ compared to what it is doing to _you.”_

As if on cue, the monk choked on the poison in his throat, doubling over as a wet, raspy cough stole his breath. Seizing up a cloth handkerchief from his lap, Maz Koshia spat up a mouthful of Malice into it. Everyone cringed. Link reached out to him, trying to help, but the fit soon passed, Maz Koshia waving him off.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Maz Koshia cleared his throat, continuing, “...Case in point.” He then unfurled his handkerchief, showcasing the shining magenta sludge slathering it. Everyone’s faces twitched. Bunching up the handkerchief, the monk went on, “With this same Malice, Calamity Ganon brought an entire civilization to its knees. That kind of raw, devastating power has only been wielded by wicked hands.”

Maz Koshia leaned toward Link, prompting, “Until now — now, it dwells within _you,_ Link. A royal knight. A Champion! With your righteous authority, imagine what _you_ could do with that power. What could _you_ accomplish, if you were able to harness it?”

Link’s blood curdled slightly as Maz Koshia’s words seeped into him. The monk, in his wisdom, was right on all accounts — and that thoroughly disturbed Link. His infection, his resurrection… it had never been done before. Until now.

The monk’s proposal was certainly novel, if not a great deal unsettling. Link had already seen what he could do with his Malice. So far, this “gift” from Calamity Ganon had wrought nothing but pain and panic. How could such a power do Link any good? Furthermore, how could it do _Hyrule_ any good, if it had already razed it to the ground once? Part of Link wanted nothing to do with this; he wanted to bury his Malice deep and never see it or speak of it again. But another part of him perked up, eager to achieve its own potential.

What _could_ he do with it...?

As Link stewed over the thought, a glimmer of inspiration dawned on Purah. Her eyes had widened further and further with each word out of Maz Koshia’s mouth. “...Turn Ganon’s own weapon against him…?” she breathed. “Just like he did to us.”

Maz Koshia smirked. “My thoughts exactly, Director.” Turning to Link, he held up a closed fist. “I say we find a way to tame this poison in our favor. Make it work _for_ you, Link, and _against him.”_

The monk smiled at Link’s awe-stricken expression, continuing, “I-I know this sounds insane, but heed me, Link — you are our hero, tried and true, no matter what you carry inside you. And you will make him _pay,”_ Maz Koshia inspirited. Ten-thousand-years-worth of hope and defiance burned in his words. “For everything he has done. The souls he stole. The desolation he wrought. The life he robbed you of. _Everything._ With the help of the Divine Beasts, the Master Sword… and — if we can make this work — with the aid of The Beast’s own Malice, you can — and you _will_ — right the wrongs of Hyrule.”

Maz Koshia held out an open palm to Link, chuckling, “I think we might be able to pull this off. With the right training, of course. I am willing to try, but...” Pausing, he cocked his head. “What say you? This power dwells within _you._ I… don’t want to force your hand.”

Link stiffened as everyone’s gazes fell on him. Swallowing a lump in his throat, his eyes fell into his hands. He only then noticed that he was shaking.

As Link stared into his glowing bones, his mind swam with images of Calamity Ganon. Of his great shadow ensnaring Hyrule Castle. Those cold, unfeeling yellow eyes. The beast’s inhuman roar echoed in his ears, sending a shiver down his spine.

Link’s expression hardened at the reminder that Ganon had wormed his way inside of him. The notion was both great and terrible. In his mind’s eye, Link re-lived his attacks on Izer and Maz Koshia. Harrowing as they were, they paled in comparison to Calamity Ganon’s deeds. But even so, a fraction of that power now lived within Link. It had brought him back from the dead. It was sustaining him. He struggled to imagine all that he would be capable of if he somehow managed to tame this… beast.

But could he do that? Wield such a weapon? Moreover, would he even want to?

Would he even dare?

Up to that point, Link hadn’t explored the full potential of his Malice. It had never occurred to him to do so; he had never considered it anything less than a plague. While that sentiment still lingered, Link couldn’t deny the almost intoxicating exhilaration that pumped through his body whenever he used it. That rush, that thrill — it had no equal.

If he could better wield it, better understand how it worked, then there was no telling what he could do. It was, dare he say it, kind of exciting. But even then, the thought of the damage he had dealt because of it still polluted his brain with uncertainty. With it, he had obliterated a Yiga Clansman, shattered Maz Koshia’s neck, traumatized Purah and Symin — maybe he had even traumatized himself.

Was this really something he wanted to trifle with?

Link’s heart fluttered with anxious ambivalence. He exhaled, slumping over, his ears ringing for some reason. He couldn’t pry his gaze from his shaking hands. Maybe he was imagining it, but the Sheikah Slate seemed to be overheating, his skin prickling against it.

Ignoring it, Link swallowed, finding his voice. “You really think I could control it?” he breathed.

Maz Koshia shrugged. “If Ganon can manipulate it, then I have good faith that you can learn to do the same. I realize that we do not fully understand how it functions, but this might prove to be the perfect opportunity to find out.” His fingers curled, his shoulders stiffening. “I hunger for that knowledge... It has eluded me from the moment I laid eyes on you. I’m certain you feel the same…?”

Link brought his eyes up to meet Maz Koshia’s veil. Pursing his lips, Link nodded. It went quiet for a moment as Link continued to mull it over. He still wasn’t completely convinced that this was a good idea. There was so much that could go wrong. So much that had _already_ gone wrong.

Link let out a weary sigh. “But… w-what if I can’t do it?” he murmured. “What if I can’t control it?”

Maz Koshia’s expression solemned somewhat behind his veil. “Then we must work to suppress it,” he replied, his voice gentle. “That we will explore, regardless. I have a few methods we could test...” He looked deeply into Link, holding him fast in his gaze. “But I want to ensure that you are comfortable with this. This is your choice, Link. Either way, I will fully support your decision.”

As Link thought again over the monk’s proposal, he found himself gripping the Sheikah Slate. He hadn’t been imagining things — it _was_ heating up on his hip, and it had begun to hum, though only he could hear it. The Slate’s humming reverberated through him, exciting his Malice — frothing his blood, jittering his bones. Link’s mind was too full to realize that the Slate was _encouraging_ him.

 _C’mon, you know you want to,_ came a thought.

And Link did. Deep down, he knew he did, in spite of his hesitations.

Then another thought sprung to life in his mind. One that he hadn’t thought of himself, but one that he couldn’t ignore.

_You were made for this._

That thought alone sparked something inside Link, overwhelming his doubts. He _was_ made for this. _Destroy the beast._ It had been his task since before he had fallen, and it still called to him. Suddenly the words of King Rhoam found their way into his mind as well, imploring him: _Do whatever it takes to annihilate Ganon._ Link couldn’t break his promise to the King… to Zelda. He had to fulfill his charge, whatever it took. Even if it meant facing his demons.

Link’s brows knit together with determination, a fire stoking in his gut. He tightened his fists and looked to Maz Koshia, nodding. “It’s worth a shot. Let’s do it. Whatever it takes.”

Link was too distracted by Maz Koshia’s reply to notice the Slate’s humming fade out.

Maz Koshia replied to Link with a firm nod of his own. “I’m pleased to hear you say that.” Smiling, the monk reached out and clapped Link on the shoulder. “Let’s get to it, then. Now, we train. You and me. It would be my honor to work with you, hero.”

A smile upturned the corner of Link’s mouth. He bowed his head to the monk, replying, “Likewise.”

Maz Koshia smiled as well. He returned Link’s bow.

They were quickly torn from each other’s gazes when Symin and Purah began to hyperventilate beside them. Link and Maz Koshia turned their heads toward the two Sheikah, brows raised, to find them both grinning from ear to ear, bouncing with anticipation.

Purah fanned herself with her hands, her eyes shimmering. “Oh my gosh, this is so exciting!” she said brightly. She leaned towards Link and Maz Koshia, clasping her hands, begging, “Oh please, please, please, can we watch?!”

Symin added, “Y’know, for science?”

Maz Koshia chuckled. “You are welcome to watch, if you like. The more people who understand how this works, the better.”

Purah beamed and pumped her fist. “Yes! Check it!” she cheered. Swiveling, she and Symin exchanged an exuberant high-five. “Let’s do this, assistant of mine. Argh, I can’t _wait!”_

“Me neither,” Symin replied, his smile wide. Turning to Maz Koshia, he added, “We’ll take good notes, I promise.”

Maz Koshia nodded gratefully. “I would expect nothing less from you. Thank you very much for your help.”

Link agreed with a nod of his own.

A split second of silence passed. Purah tossed her gazes between everyone before shooting to her feet. “Well, what are we sitting around here for?! Let’s get going!”

Eager as they all were to begin, Maz Koshia held them back to ensure Link got some food in him. At everyone’s insistence, Link wolfed down his breakfast. As he ate, they chatted. About the nice weather, Bolson’s antics, their anticipation for Link’s training. Maz Koshia was the most excited out of them all — he couldn’t sit still.

They spent some time brainstorming where they should go. The lab itself was out of the question, and the area immediately around it wasn’t quite spacious enough for their needs. There was a beach far below, at the base of the cliff, but they decided that hiking to and from it would prove tiresome — especially for Maz Koshia, given the state of his health. Ultimately, they settled on the land near Lake Sumac, where Link had retired to the day before. It wasn’t too far away, provided decent acreage, and was hidden enough away from Hateno so as to provide some privacy.

With that sorted, and with Link fed, they cleaned up the table. Returning to the lab, they quickly gathered up supplies before heading out. Symin and Purah packed notepads and pencils and the Slate Lite, as well as some medical supplies. Just in case. Maz Koshia brought his own notes and a few extra handkerchiefs, stuffing his pockets with them. Link brought the least with him — just the Sheikah Slate, leaving behind his scarf and goggles. He wouldn’t need the latter; all of his other tools were still at the lakeside.

Maz Koshia, his eyes on the Sheikah Slate, noted, “Ah, good, the Slate. Bring that along, Link, we will need to take a look at it, as well.”

The device seemed to shudder on Link’s hip. Slapping a hand against it, he gave a crooked, nervous smile and made sure it was secured to his belt. After its bizarre episode earlier, he figured it was about time they gave it a good inspection. But he would tell Maz Koshia about it later. For now, they had his Malice to wrangle with.

With supplies in-hand, the group set off for the lake. It seemed the wind itself was as eager as they were; it hurried them along as they made their way downhill, rippling the grass. Along the way, Maz Koshia walked extremely close to Link, clinging to his shoulder for support. He still walked with a bit of a totter, his breath little more than a wheeze. Concerned as Link was for the monk’s health, he was glad he was there to help. He just hoped that their training wouldn’t prove too taxing on him.

The trek down didn’t take them long. Blackened grass crunched beneath their feet as they finally approached the lakeside. Link was taken aback at the state of the place — the once-peaceful area had been reduced to something of a war zone, the dark grass littered with swords, branches, a ruined frying pan, his packs. Link hadn’t given the area a second glance before, but he had left it in much worse shape than he found it.

Regaining his breath, Maz Koshia slowed as he looked upon the area, his brows wrinkling. He paused when his toe met something in the grass. Glancing to his feet, he bent over, picking it up and feeding his gaze on it.

It was a long broadsword. This particular sword was one Link had taken from the Great Plateau. He had used it to try and lance off his Malice the day before, but to no avail. The blade, originally dappled with rust, was now completely cankered with it. Only the rust was discolored; it was dark, more of a deep, purplish-red, akin to a bruise.

“That’s interesting…” Maz Koshia murmured.

“What is?” Link asked, gathering in closer. Symin and Purah followed suit.

Maz Koshia held the broadsword out. “I originally believed that Malice only eats away at organic material,” he began. “But it seems that it affects _inorganic_ material just as well.”

He brought everyone’s attention to the bandage covering his hand, tugging at it and revealing his palm. Or, what was left of it. The act of touching simply Link’s Malice the night before had reduced the monk’s palm to a gaping hole, exposing the bones in his hand.

Link cringed back, his heart squeezing in his chest. _His Malice_ had done that. He’d hurt Maz Koshia, again. But Link didn’t get the chance to wallow in the thought. Without warning, the broadsword’s blade dissolved into dust, startling them all. Everyone watched, awed, as it scattered away with the breeze.

Maz Koshia gaped at the sword’s hilt before dumping it onto the grass. “Well all right, then,” he mused. “I suppose that takes blunt force trauma off the list of ways to remove Malice...” He shrugged. “That’s fine — I have a few other ideas we can try.” Looking to Link, he proposed, “But we’ll need to coax it out of you first.”

Link swallowed, his heart giving a heavy _thump._ Now that they were about to try it, he began to second-guess if he was prepared for this — especially after relishing in his newfound freedom from his Malice. But he nevertheless complied. He couldn’t run from this. It was now or never.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” he said.

Maz Koshia nodded. Gesturing around, he proposed, “Here, we’ll need to make some room.”

The four of them dispersed to clear the grass of Link’s tools, piling everything by a tree in the nearby grove. Once everything was put aside, Maz Koshia and Link stood in the heart of the lakeside, several yards apart, facing each other. Symin and Purah settled down beneath a tree a ways away, pulling out their supplies. Symin adjusted his glasses and held a notepad and pencil at the ready; Purah gripped the Slate Lite, aiming it at Link and Maz Koshia, itching to snap pictures.

“You can do it, Linky!” she cried. “Let ‘er rip!”

“You got this!” Symin added.

Link shot them a weak smile. “Erm… thanks!” Turning to face the monk, he found him standing with his arms folded, his head bowed. Link tilted his head, wondering, “Everything okay, Maz?”

There was a pause before Maz Koshia responded. The passing breeze ran its fingers through everyone’s hair.

The monk gave a light snort. “I was just thinking…” he murmured. “This moment — right now — is the culmination of my existence. Thousands of years ago, the Goddess came to me in a vision, filling my mind with images of you, of the day I was to train you. Since then, I have worked tirelessly to prepare you to combat Calamity.” He raised his head. “After all this time, that day is finally here. I’m... I’m _standing_ in it.”

Link couldn’t help but shiver at that, his eyes widening. The span of time alone was dumbfounding.

Maz Koshia continued, his voice wavering slightly, “I have looked forward to this day for millennia.” He shook his head. “But now that I am here… it’s not at all what I had envisioned...” He drifted off, his breath catching. He quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed up some Malice into it.

It went quiet for a moment after the monk’s coughing subsided. Link shifted his feet, unsure of how to respond. All he could manage was a reverent, “...I don’t think any of us could have guessed things would turn out like this, Maz.”

The monk’s long bout of silence signaled his agreement. Finally, he shrugged, sighing. “Well... perhaps that is a good thing? It is keeping this old Sheikah on his toes, just as it should to you, Link.” He straightened, pocketing his handkerchief. “But enough of that. In light of recent developments, I must now modify my training regimen for you, hero.” He frowned to himself. “It may not be what I have been rehearsing all these years, but we will make do.”

Pressing his palms together, the monk zeroed in his gaze on Link. “Now then,” he began, clearing his throat. “In the name of the Goddess Hylia… I offer this trial.” At his word, the eye of the Sheikah on his veil sparked with an orange fire, making Link lean back.

With a smile, Maz Koshia stated, “Let us begin.”

A ways off, Symin and Purah both squealed.

Link half-noticed their reactions. His body and mind tensed in anticipation. The last few times Maz Koshia’s veil had glowed like that, the monk had surged forward like a man possessed, whether it was to interrogate Link or to attack him. It was honestly quite terrifying. This time, however, the monk paced carefully toward him, his gait a bit wobbly, but his stature nonetheless intimidating. Link did his best to stand tall as Maz Koshia came and stood before him, towering above him.

The eye of the Sheikah stared intently into Link as the monk began, “First and foremost, we need to try to bring out your Malice, Link.”

Link fanned his fingers out, studying them. “O-okay,” he said. “How do we go about doing that?”

“Like this,” the monk replied curtly. Without warning, he lunged forward and gave Link a firm shove, making him stagger.

Maz Koshia was much stronger than he looked — something Link had forgotten. The monk just about knocked the wind out of him with that push alone. Stumbling to stay on his feet, Link gawked at Maz Koshia, eyes bulging.

“H-hey! What was that for?!” he stammered.

Maz Koshia cocked his head and ambled toward Link, replying, “Correlation is not causation, Link. I intend to find out which is which…”

Before Link had time to process what he was saying, the monk had caught up to him, and was rearing his arms back to shove him again. Not wishing to endure another shove, Link sidestepped. Despite his evasion, Maz Koshia still managed to strike him thanks to his long reach, whacking Link across the cheek with the back of his hand.

Link’s head snapped to the side, his neck popping. Gasping, he stumbled and cupped his stinging cheek, wearing a twisted expression of shock and pain as he faced the monk. “Argh! Maz!?” he cried, his breath quickening.

Maz Koshia wasn’t moved by Link’s protests. “C’mon!” he pressured, brandishing his fists. “Have at you! Show me what you can do!”

Link recoiled, finally understanding what Maz Koshia was attempting. _He wanted to fight him._ Link’s face contorted, his gaze flickering from the monk’s bandaged hand, to his haggard posture, to the scraps of flesh clinging to the hole in his neck. Link’s stomach rolled with dread, the gruesome _crack_ of the monk’s bones haunting his thoughts.

Link couldn’t do it. This wasn’t at all what he was expecting his training to come to. He held up his hands, surrendering before he even began. “No — Maz, I-I can’t fight you,” he said, shaking his head.

Maz Koshia’s brows knit together. His veil burned a little brighter. “You _can’t?_ Or you _won’t?”_

Link’s cheeks burned for some reason. “I won’t,” he repeated. “I won’t fight you.”

Maz Koshia frowned beneath his veil. Crossing his arms, he posed, “That’s odd — I seem to recall you saying something earlier, Link. ‘ _Whatever it takes’,_ is that right?”

Link cringed, hanging his head. “I know what I said, but… but I didn’t mean _this!_ Fighting you...! I won’t do it, Maz, I’m sorry. W-we’ll figure something else out.”

But the monk was undeterred. He shook his head, challenging, “How else do you propose we bring out your Malice then, hm? During both of your outbursts, you were under attack, were you not?” He prowled toward Link. “ _You_ aren’t fighting me, are you, Link? It’s what’s _inside_ you…” He then leaned toward Link, purring darkly, “Come on out, _beast._ We have unfinished business, you and I.”

Link shuddered against a disquieting sensation that struck him from out of nowhere. His guts squirmed inside him like snakes, roused by Maz Koshia’s words. Blood chilling, Link gasped, his hands flying to his abdomen — to his scar.

Maz Koshia perked up slightly, noting Link’s reaction. With newfound fervor, he grinned, continuing his advance. “Well, now — it looks like we’re getting somewhere already.”

But Link, still unwilling to raise a hand against the monk, maintained his retreat. He was beginning to break out in a sweat despite the cool, brisk breeze. He shook his head, stammering, “Wait Maz, I-I’m starting to think this isn’t a good idea. There’s gotta be another way — ”

“Why, on the contrary,” Maz Koshia scoffed, his voice low and gravelly. “This is the best idea I’ve had in centuries…” He stopped, releasing an exhale. Blue light gathered at his fingertips, mesmerizing Link for a brief moment. Link’s gaze was wrenched back to the monk’s face when he forewarned him tenderly, “Know that I’m doing this for you, Link. I mean you no ill will.” His voice then gained a hungry edge. “The beast is my prize!”

Bowing his head, the monk pressed his glowing fingertips together, his fingers forming a triangle. A ghostly growl echoed from behind his bared teeth, his arms trembling as he focused his energy.

Link could only stare. He had no idea what the monk was doing. He watched, stunned, as the blue light on Maz Koshia’s fingertips brightened, rapidly spreading over his body until it coated him completely. Link squinted against the light, taking a step back. Then, with a mighty shout, the monk thrust his arms out, his light growing to blinding levels. Link flinched and pinched his eyes shut, taking another step back.

He bumped into something. Link’s brows immediately crunched in confusion — he and Maz Koshia were standing in the middle of the lakeside, away from any trees. What had he hit? Blinking away the light that scalded his eyes, Link was about to whirl around to investigate when a hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind.

He froze. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, revealing a bizarre sight. Maz Koshia stood directly in front of him — _and all around him._ The monk had spontaneously multiplied. Nine individual copies of him surrounded Link on all sides like a wall of soldiers, each of their veils ablaze.

Heart hammering, Link’s gaze darted between each iteration of the monk — they were a humbling, if not a bit brain-bending, sight. A drop of fear chilled his stomach.

Link shrunk into his shoulders, breathless. “Maz…?!” he managed to gasp.

The monk directly in front of Link leaned into his face, growling, “Challenge me.”

Something inside Link snarled at the familiar phrase; his stomach flipped, his breath hitching. But he didn’t have time to panic over it before the monk before him stepped back. The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip. Link was pushed forward, crashing to his hands and knees with a grunt.

While kneeling in the shadow of Maz Koshia, Link’s mind surged with memories of the Shrine of Resurrection, memories that shot his blood with cold, biting fear. He suddenly felt as though he was there again, cowering beneath the vengeful wrath of the monk. Surely, Maz Koshia remembered what followed?

Indeed, both Link and Maz Koshia knew very well what had occurred in the Shrine. Before, it had taken the monk by surprise. But he knew what to expect now. And he was going to do everything in his power to replicate what transpired — whatever it took.

A foot appeared on Link’s back, cutting off his thoughts. He was forced downward, his face plunging into the crunchy grass. Link ground his teeth, a pang of anxiety squeezing his lungs.

One of Maz Koshia’s copies ground the sole of his foot into Link’s spine. “Let’s try this again, _beast…”_ the monk teased with a hiss. “I’m ready for you this time.”

Something inside Link wanted to contest that.

With only a fraction of hesitation, several of the monk’s copies reared their feet back, pummeling Link’s ribs. Link cried out, his bones creaking. Again, the monk — even his copies — hit harder than his frail body advertised. As much as Link didn’t want to fight him, he wasn’t about to lie there and take a beating. He had to get away.

Lungs straining against his sore ribs, Link rolled out of Maz Koshia’s range. But when he landed on his back, he was immediately faced with four more of the monk’s copies. They loomed above him, each brandishing a sword. It was an ancient sword, one that Link had yet to see. It was of Sheikah design, the aesthetics of its hilt reminiscent of the Sheikah Slate. Its blade was crafted from a shaft of intense, crackling blue energy — and four of them were aimed right at Link.

Maz Koshia’s copies lunged for him, swords outthrust. Defenseless, Link flipped to his hands and knees, scrambling out of harm’s way. But he didn’t get away unscathed. A panicked grunt escaped him when the ancient blades grazed his back and his legs, slicing clear through his clothes, searing his flesh. Suppressing a rising foam of panic bubbling up inside him, he stumbled into a hobbled run and made a break for a gap in the monk’s ranks.

But Link’s flight was abruptly halted when Maz Koshia himself came into existence before him in a puff of smoke. Link flinched, sucking in a gasp, but he couldn’t reroute himself in time before he tumbled headlong into the monk. Maz Koshia gripped him firmly by the wrists and pinned his arms into his sternum, shoving his burning veil into his face.

“And here I thought we were training, Link. Rise up and fight me!” the monk ordered.

Even if Link had wanted to fight back, he couldn’t move his arms. All he could do was reply with a brisk shake of his head. Maz Koshia gave an exasperated grunt. Link’s chin hit his chest when the monk threw him backward. He hit the ground hard, his molars pinching down on his tongue. The metallic tang of blood ran over his taste buds. Eyes watering, Link suddenly found himself lying, spread-eagle, at the center of a ring of towering monks.

Maz Koshia took a shaky step forward, summoning a sword of his own and jamming it into the grass between Link’s legs. Link gave a yipe — he could feel the heat of the sword’s blade soaking into the material of his pants. Stooping, the monk reached out and seized up two fistfuls of Link’s tunic, dragging him to his feet and lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing.

Link held onto the monk’s wrists as he dangled. Though Maz Koshia’s hands were firmly knotted into his tunic, Link’s throat still cinched as if the monk were crushing it, his breath surging in and out in brisk gasps. He had been in this position before, and he wasn’t eager to be in it again. But he wouldn’t fight it. He wouldn’t dare.

“Maz, please stop — I won’t fight you!” Link pled. “We’ll find some other way!”

The monk growled and gave him a shake. “Don’t give me that!” he retorted. The eye on his veil gouged into Link, delving beyond his gaze, endeavoring to coax out what lurked within. “You had no qualms with fighting me back in the Shrine. Why hesitate now, beast?”

Beast. BEAST — Goddess, Link hated that word. A glare warped his brow before he could stop it. Through bared teeth he fired back at the monk, “Stop calling me that.”

The monk smirked. He released his grip, dumping Link to his feet on the grass. After finding his footing, Link stood a little taller, his hands unconsciously tightening into fists as Maz Koshia continued to pressure him.

Jabbing Link hard on the shoulder, the monk taunted, “Then give me one good reason, _beast._ I know you’re in there — come out and give it to me yourself!”

The monk reached out to shove him again. But Link reacted this time. His hand automatically flew up to catch the monk’s wrist. For a split second, the two locked eyes, neither of them blinking. Link’s face was twisted into a deep-set glare, his lip curled, his amber eyes smoldering. Maz Koshia, meanwhile, beamed at him with fiendish delight.

Chuckling, Maz Koshia leaned into Link, tempting him, “I dare you to do it.”

Something inside Link leapt out of its den at the monk’s invitation. It bulldozed through his body, clawing at his chest, raking at his heart. His pulse skyrocketed, roaring in his ears. As he held Maz Koshia’s wrist, Link gave an involuntary jolt forward, as if something had pushed him from within.

The sensation was fleeting, but it left Link shaken. He blinked back into himself, his wicked expression going slack, his eyes widening in horror. This — this felt different. But Goddesses above, something was happening to him. Maz Koshia’s taunts were working. Perhaps a bit too well. Link’s abdominal muscles clenched as his gut boiled with two distinct emotions — loathing and exhilaration. It made him want to vomit and scream at the same time. He could feel his Malice churning in his veins, eager to lash out at Maz Koshia.

But he wouldn’t do it. Not like this. Not at Maz Koshia’s expense.

Something caught Link’s eye, then, distracting him from his rising horror — the bones in his fingers, they were glowing. A horrified wheeze pulverized Link’s lungs as he caught sight of them. He immediately let go of Maz Koshia, taking a step back. His body shook violently. He found himself struggling to breathe.

He clutched his abdomen, shrinking in on himself. “No — I-I can’t — ” he stammered, shaking his head.

Maz Koshia gaped at him, astonished by his refusal to cooperate. “What?! Why not?!” he shouted. “This is what we’re training for, Link!” He threw his hands up. “Just let it out!”

“NO!” Link refused through gritted teeth. “Not like this!”

“What do you mean?! How else are we going to bring it out, then?! Stop fighting it! LET IT OUT, LINK!” Maz Koshia demanded.

Link knew this was what they had meant to do, but he still couldn’t bring himself to let go. True, his power was tempting, but he was too afraid of what he might do to Maz Koshia if he lost control again. He had already snapped his neck, paralyzed him. Poisoned him. He couldn’t bear the thought of doing anything worse.

Link’s stubbornness was enough to send Maz Koshia over the edge. Link choked when the monk and his copies moved as one body, lunging toward him and crowding around him in a claustrophobic circle. Like a hail of arrows, Maz Koshia and his copies began to spit commands at Link and push him around, peppering him from all sides in an incessant barrage.

“C’mon, beast! Come on out!”

“Show yourself, _coward!”_

“Let it out, Link! You can do this! Just let it take over!”

“C’mon! C’MON!”

Link’s ears filled with the monk’s voice, each word overwhelming his senses to the breaking point. A shrill tinnitus split his skull, his heart bashing itself to pulp against his ribs. The more he was tossed around, the more the swell of Malice inside him surged toward its escape. He could feel it rising, hot and caustic, from the depths of his gut. Teeth chattering, Link’s fingers curled as a deluge of tingling numbness coursed through him from head to toe.

Link’s stomach dropped. He sucked in a rattled gasp. Cupping his hands over his ears, he dropped to his knees, belting out a desperate, “NO!”

Link’s voice echoed around the lakeside; a flock of birds in a nearby tree scattered into the sky. All at once, Maz Koshia stopped his assault, each of his copies following suit. The blazing Sheikah eye on his veil doused. The monk slumped over, suddenly out of breath, as he beheld Link where he had fallen. Link ground his nails into his scalp, endeavoring to take control over his erratic breath. Ears ringing, he grimaced against the nauseating heaving of his Malice inside him. Somehow, he was able to keep it at bay, but he was far too frantic to realize it.

After a long moment of tense silence, Link managed to stammer, “I can’t do it, Maz!”

Link was too overwhelmed to notice the distant, subtle rustling of Symin and Purah as they got to their feet, growing concerned. Maz Koshia turned his head to glance at them. He held up a hand, reassuring them everything was under control. Turning back to Link, he sighed, waving away his copies. They diffused into the air in a shower of blue light.

The monk stood above Link for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. Eventually, he pursed his lips and carefully lowered himself down on one knee. He knelt there for a moment beside Link, listening to his rapid gasping. Maz Koshia gently thumped his fist into the grass, murmuring, “Link… Link, we were so close. I could _feel_ it. You felt something, didn’t you?”

Link’s shoulders sunk. “...Yes.”

“Then why wouldn’t you let it out?” the monk asked softly.

Link hung his head, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just can’t shake this feeling… What if I can’t control it, Maz?” he whispered. “What if I hurt you again…?”

Maz Koshia blinked, leaning back slightly. “Hurt me? Link, you shouldn’t worry about that.”

Link shook his head, breathing, “How can you say that?! I thought I killed you once — thank Hylia I didn’t, but… I couldn't live with myself if I succeeded.” Link, his heart completely shattered, raised his head. His face was wracked with misery. “Please, Maz, there must be some other way.”

Maz Koshia’s chest hollowed out at Link’s confession. He laid a hand on his mouth, tapping his chin as pity filled his heart. As he studied Link’s weak expression, the monk found himself a tad disappointed. He was so eager to coach Link into mastering his Malice, so ready to throw this back into Ganon’s face. But now that he had paused to listen, he could understand Link’s hesitations. The destructive power sleeping inside him was daunting, no doubt, and the monk suddenly realized that he had put a tremendous amount of pressure on Link. Even so, he had had high hopes going into this. But it seemed he wasn’t about to get anywhere using his current methods. He needed to change tactics.

But what else could they try? At the outset of Link’s prior outbursts, he had been in combat, under emotional and physical stress. From what Maz Koshia could gather, those were two primary triggers for his Malice. They had worked then, but they weren’t working now. Link simply refused to fight. But surely there had to be another way?

The monk’s strength, both physically and mentally, finally gave out. He plopped to his backside on the grass, laying his palms on his knees, sighing. “Well… you held it back,” he mused, cocking his head. “That’s progress, right?”

Link blinked, staring into his shaking hands. He slowly realized that Maz Koshia was right. Somehow, he had prevented his Malice from bursting out of him. It still churned inside him, but it was gradually petering out as Link’s raging heartbeat slowed.

Link swallowed thickly, awe somewhat dissolving his panic. “Y-yeah. I guess I did,” he breathed.

He jumped when Maz Koshia playfully brushed his shoulder, encouraging him. “Well, then, I would say that’s a start,” the monk began. “Granted, we still have much to learn, but we’ll get there. I believe in you.” Drifting off, he paused, sighing to himself. “Link, I know this was... difficult for you. And perhaps I was a bit overzealous. I apologize for that. Regardless, I think it’s safe to say that mastering your Malice won’t come easily, nor will it be painless…”

Link frowned, his shoulders sagging. He understood. Part of him wasn’t looking forward to finding out just how painful it might be, but he agreed with a silent nod.

Maz Koshia went on, his voice level and careful, “That being said, I do still want to try this exercise again. So far, stress of this caliber has proved successful.” His words made Link cringe, but the monk softened the blow by adding, “We’ll try out a few other methods first, don’t worry. I won’t throw you back into that fire just yet.” He tapped his fingers on his knee, proposing, “I’m thinking we try meditation next. Something less… strenuous. Does that sound reasonable?”

Link’s lips pursed. He nodded again, exhaling deeply through his nose. “Yes, Maz Koshia.” He bowed his head, both in submission and in shame. “I’ll… try to do better.”

Reaching out, the monk laid a gentle hand on Link’s shoulder. “I know you will,” he replied.

Link’s hurricane of emotions settled somewhat at that.

For a moment, the two of them fell silent. Link’s eyes wandered into Maz Koshia’s lap, his gaze resting on the bandage wrapped around his hand. Noticing Link’s stare, Maz Koshia brushed his thumb against it, saying quietly, “Link… you shouldn’t worry about hurting me. My body isn’t what it used to be, but I can take more punishment than you think, in spite of my looks.”

Link blinked several times at the monk’s strange words. He supposed that made sense, given how much he had put the monk through, but at the same time, it hardly made any sense at all. But he didn’t get a chance to ask any further questions before Maz Koshia continued, “But even then, my body won’t last forever. I wasn’t meant to last as long as I have. This detour into studying your infection... it wasn’t planned.”

Puzzled, Link’s face twisted. “What are you saying, Maz?” he wondered, a new pang of dread sullying his blood for some reason.

As Link awaited Maz Koshia’s response, he barely noticed the arrival of Purah and Symin. They padded up to meet them almost silently, their ears already tuned into their conversation.

Taking note of Symin and Purah’s presence, Maz Koshia chewed his lip. He wasn’t sure how he was going to put this delicately. Steepling his fingers, he explained, “By the grace of the Goddess, I have lived beyond my time, preserved to train the chosen hero.” He shrugged. “But once my purpose is complete, I must return to her.”

Just as Maz Koshia had feared, Link, Purah, and Symin all gave a start, their eyes widening.

“Maz Koshia!” Purah cried.

“No!” Symin added.

Link leaned forward, his heart stuttering in his chest. “What?!” he blurted. “You’re going to leave? Why now? I-I need you, Maz!”

Startled by their reactions, the monk raised his hands, hurriedly adding, “Oh, but I won’t leave right at this moment. No, no, no, not _now._ But eventually, I must.” When he caught the wounded looks in everyone’s eyes, he sighed and shook his head. “You must understand — your journey is not mine. I am merely a part of it.” He glanced at Link. “Once I fulfill my task, to the Goddess I must return.”

“How long will you be with us?” Purah asked.

Maz Koshia shrugged again. “I cannot say for certain. A few weeks? Longer, perhaps? I intend to engage Link with my original training regimen, but my main concern is taming his Malice.” He exchanged a grim look with Link, continuing, “I have no idea how long that will take; we have a lot of work to do.”

Link swallowed, fidgeting where he knelt. Wetting his lips, he asked, “B-but we’ll figure it out, right? Before you leave, we’ll figure all this out.”

“Of course we — ” Maz Koshia began, only to choke mid-sentence. He pitched forward, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he broke into another bout of wet, heavy coughing.

Everyone surged to his aid. Link took the monk by the shoulders, trying to stabilize him. Maz Koshia’s lungs crushed with each wracking cough — they could all hear them shriveling, straining to take in air. Thankfully, the fit was brief; Maz Koshia managed to spit up a mouthful of Malice. But he couldn’t grab a handkerchief in time. His hand took the brunt of the fit, his fingers dripping with Malice.

They all held still for a moment. Link, Symin, and Purah were on tenterhooks as they waited for Maz Koshia to catch his breath. Finally, he reassured them, his voice gravelly, “I’m fine.”

Link grimaced as he took in the sight of the monk’s smoking fingers. “No, you’re not, Maz… Argh…!” he grunted. Enraged by the sight of his own poison, he found himself glaring at it, snarling to himself, “What even is this stuff?”

Just as when he woke up that morning, Link hadn’t expected to receive an answer to his musings. He gave a jolt when the Sheikah Slate vibrated on his hip, calling out to him with a trill. Everyone’s attention was jerked from Maz Koshia and to Link. Brow furrowing, Link tore the Sheikah Slate off his belt, bringing its screen to his face. What he read made his heart skip a beat.

_A gift._

Link’s spine stiffened. Not this again. Knowing it would respond, he asked it, breathless, “What?”

“What?!” Maz Koshia, Symin, and Purah all chimed in unison. Heads snapping up, they all crowded near the Sheikah Slate, three sets of bulging eyes finding the glyphs flashing across its screen.

 _A gift,_ the Slate repeated. _We’ve been through_ _this_ _before_ _, Master._

There was a brief lull as everyone digested what they had read.

Maz Koshia was the first to move. He swallowed a lump of Malice in his throat. “What in the name of Hylia…?!” he marveled.

He stretched out his hand to take the Slate, only to quickly retract it when the device began to give off a low hissing sound. It was _growling_ at him. Malice bubbled up from inside of it, oozing through its seams and boiling along its surface. Link, still holding onto it, watched its reaction with complete stupefaction. Goosebumps darted up his neck at the biting touch of its Malice as it caressed his fingers.

Maz Koshia leaned back, tucking his hand close to his chest. “...I suppose I should have expected that,” he grimaced.

Purah and Symin had yet to blink, their jaws hanging open. They peeled their gazes away from the Slate and to Link and Maz Koshia.

Purah choked, gesturing to the device. “E-excuse me, erm, when did _this_ happen?!”

“And what exactly am I looking at?!” Symin added, inching away from the Slate.

Link and Maz Koshia exchanged a wild-eyed glance. Gathering his thoughts, Link explained everything to the best of his ability. “When I woke up in the Shrine, i-it was normal. Blue. But when I picked it up, I did something to it. Malice came out of my hands. I-I think I _infected_ it…!”

Symin gave a wheezy chuckle. “Hah hah! No kidding!”

Purah began to spit out flabbergasted sentences, her brain tripping over itself to make sense of this bizarre information. “Infected or not, how is it communicating?! How is it _listening?!_ Nothing like that was _ever_ programmed into it! A-and was it — was it _growling?!_ Like a _dog?!”_

Floored as they were already, the Slate continued to surprise them. It was definitely listening to their conversation. Following Purah’s words, the device flashed with magenta light, giving off another sound that it shouldn’t have been able to make. It was a quick, indignant snuff of air — a scoff. Everyone’s gazes were wrenched to the Slate as a new set of glyphs flashed on its screen.

_Excuse you, Purah. I am not a dog._

Purah’s face flushed as white as her hair. “Oh my goddess…!” she gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

Symin went weak in the knees, retreating a step. Maz Koshia suppressed a cough, his hand finding his throat. Link, however, stayed put, his gaze unwavering on the Slate. He had never seen this level of sentience in it before. It was so… _alive._ It could think, profess its own opinions, back-sass people. A machine shouldn’t have been capable of any of that. No, there was something more going on with it. Something none of them had realized until that moment.

Link gripped the Slate a little tighter. “What are you?” he breathed.

The Slate seemed to smirk.

_I thought you would never ask._

Link blinked, his hand shaking slightly. Eyes bugging, he brought the Slate closer to his face, reading its response.

_I am a disgraced spirit from beyond, given a newfound purpose. I am a tool to serve my Master._

Everyone stiffened. A bead of sweat crawled down Link’s neck. Timidly, he added, “Who is your Master, exactly?”

Perhaps Link was imagining it, but he could feel the Slate’s eye hone in on him. Its gaze was intense, familiar… almost obsessed. As he beheld the Slate, Link recalled something that Izer had told him back in Kakariko — _the Slate needed him._ It wanted him. His life, his breath, his blood. A zing of lightning darted into Link’s fingertips at the thought.

 _You are of course,_ the Slate replied, giving a matter-of-fact chirp.

Link’s blood chilled for some reason. He was whisked back to that night in Kakariko, again. When the Yiga had forced the Slate into his face, urging him to read its desperate message for him. It had called him its Master.

That was all it cared about: Link.

He was too stunned to pose another question to it. Maz Koshia, however, was burning with morbid curiosity. He clambered to his knees, leaning close to the Sheikah Slate.

“And what is your purpose, spirit?”

_To serve my Master in every way that I can._

Everyone froze for a moment until their eyes slowly rose to meet. Link and Maz Koshia exchanged a nearly eternal glance with each other, coming to a mutual query in their minds. The moment the question came to fruition, they both shuddered, the Malice within them writhing.

Link looked back to the Sheikah Slate.

“Can you help me control my Malice?” he asked it.

A brief pause. More Sheikah glyphs ran across its screen.

_I am Malice._

_Would you like to see?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, snap! The plot thickens even more! Okay, this chapter was so much fun. I thoroughly enjoyed writing the “training” scene, including bits of Maz Koshia’s boss fight from the Champions’ Ballad DLC. I didn’t include all of his moves, here, but we’ll be seeing more soon. Let’s just hope Link and the monk can figure things out… with their newfound friend in the Sheikah Slate. At last, we’re finally going to get to know our enigmatic friend. It seems the Sheikah Slate has more up its sleeve than everyone thought! I’ve seen quite a few of you speculating as to who the spirit within the Slate is. I dropped some hints here, but as the story develops, let’s see if your guesses are right… ;) As for Maz Koshia’s ultimatum… we’ll see where that lands our group of heroes. Anyhoo, stay tuned for the next chapter! We have officially caught up with my writing schedule, so you’ll have to be patient for the next update. It's nearly completed, though. But for everyone reading this, I hope you enjoy what’s coming up. It’ll be INSANE. See you next chapter, friends!


	19. To Serve Two Masters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re back, baby! Chapter 19 of Corrupted Hero is here! Honestly, this is one of my favorite chapters so far. It’ll take you for a ride. It certainly took me for one! It’s also nice and long, just to make up for things. But if you think I should shorten future chapters, let me know. Anyway, I won’t ramble. Thank you all so much for your patience, your readership, and your support! I can’t wait to present this chapter. Read on, and enjoy!

For all its attitude, the Sheikah Slate showed remarkable patience as it awaited Link’s response. It simply sat in his quaking palm, the eye on its screen watching them all as they stared, goggle-eyed, at it. Though it lacked the facial features to do so, Link held the distinct impression that it was smirking, relishing in their bafflement. And as the long moments of their stupefied silence crawled on, the Slate’s enjoyment only grew.

Link ground his jaw, trying to wrap his head around this bizarre development. He struggled to comprehend that the device he held in his hands was, in all respects, _possessed._ It was a dumbfounding thought, but as he continued to stew on it, it all slowly began to make sense.

He thought back to his prior run-ins with the Slate’s newfound personality. In the past, the Slate had reacted in ways that were impossible for a machine. It had snapped at Purah, thrown a tantrum when Maz Koshia had taken it, and spiraled with panic when separated from Link. Such reactions were illogical, unpredictable… _organic._ With each of its outbursts stacking up in his mind, Link finally came to the shocking understanding that the reason the Slate even _had_ a personality was because it wasn’t just a machine. There was something living _inside_ of it.

A spirit. One that was completely obsessed with him. And it was offering its help. But why was it here? And how had it gotten into the Slate in the first place?

Unless…?

Link’s mind shot further back into his history with the device. When he had first beheld it in the Shrine of Resurrection, it had glowed blue. But when he had picked it up, Malice spawned from his hands and forced its way inside of it, changing it. Was that…? But that would mean the spirit had been… _inside him._ No, that couldn’t have been...?

Link shivered, his mind a maelstrom of questions, fear, and speculation. He had no idea what to make of this. It was absolutely insane. But, insane as it was, the spirit’s timing was impeccable; its proposal was exactly what Link was needing. What he and Maz Koshia had been in the middle of attempting. This should have been godsend.

Only it wasn’t. Though his awe tried to convince him otherwise, Link knew in his right mind that something about this wasn’t right. It was too good to be true. But he had to know more. Something inside of him — he couldn’t name exactly what — was dying to heed the spirit, goading on his curiosity. He could feel whatever-it-was smoldering in his veins, battling against his better judgement. It all served to make his stomach roil with tepid uncertainty.

But he wouldn’t get any answers by just sitting there. Somewhat overcoming his shock, Link finally managed to say something. It had gone so deathly silent that everyone flinched when he shakily asked the Slate, “What are you going to show me, exactly?”

The device glittered with crimson light upon being spoken to. _What you’ve been missing,_ the spirit replied.

Link blinked. “ _Missing?_ Wh-what do you mean?”

_Why not find out? All I need is a yes._

Another uncomfortable pause settled upon them. Once again, Link froze, stunned and confused by the spirit’s words. What could he possibly be missing? He was almost afraid to find out. And yet… he burned with curiosity. He couldn’t wait to find out — if he dared even agree to the spirit’s lurings.

Symin’s head shot up, his eyes alight with panic behind his glasses. “You’re not seriously going to trust this thing, are you, Link?!” he wheezed.

Link pursed his lips, studying the Slate’s screen. Its eye continued to watch him expectantly. “I-I don’t…” he stammered, struggling to sift through his ambivalence. “I don’t know…” Troubling as this development was, it wasn’t without its intrigue, Link couldn’t deny that.

Neither could Purah. Her hands tucked close to her chest, she leaned forward slightly, inspecting the Slate with bated breath. “Fascinated as I am… I can’t say that I trust this... spirit,” she said. She hadn’t forgotten its snarky attitude towards her. “I don’t like that it’s taken up residence inside the Slate. It feels wrong.”

The spirit seethed at that remark, but it chose to ignore it, reining in a comeback. Now that it had their attention, it didn’t want to tear down its already-feeble rapport with its company.

Meanwhile, Maz Koshia’s eyes were tight as he studied the Slate, taking mental notes of his words, its reactions — both physical and vocal. His mind itched at the vague familiarity of its behavior. Like Link, he wasn’t sure how to interpret this interloper, but he nevertheless found his inner scholar teeming with dark curiosity. He had never seen anything like this. He wanted to dissect it however he could.

“I couldn’t agree more, Director,” the monk agreed, his voice low and thoughtful, yet disturbed. Everyone turned their gazes on him as he steepled his fingers, tapping them against his chin. “But as much as this concerns me,” he continued, “if what it is saying is true… then this spirit could potentially teach Link something that we don’t understand.”

They all jumped again when the Slate gave off another strange sound — something mechanically akin to a chuckle. _Potentially?_ the spirit repeated. _Oh, ye of little faith. I could teach him things even you don’t know, monk. You’re not the only one who has lived for millennia._

Maz Koshia stiffened at that. Before he could ask a follow-up question, everyone’s eyes were diverted back to the Slate when additional words appeared on its screen.

_But we’re getting off topic. You still haven’t answered me, Master._

Link’s face burned as everyone’s gazes — including the Slate’s — turned on him. Once again, he found himself torn between his curiosity and his own disquietude.

On one hand, he leapt at the chance to learn more about his Malice. Now that he knew that he had been resurrected at Ganon’s hand, he was itching to take control of his corruption and unleash it against the beast. And Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin all felt the same. Yet despite their righteous intentions, they honestly had no idea what they were doing. Their recent bout of training was evidence enough of that.

But to be taught by something that was Malice itself… something that wanted nothing more than to serve him… it was an opportunity Link couldn’t afford to waste. Who knew what he could learn? What he could perfect?

But at the same time, Link’s gut brewed with a sense of caution. Just as before, he wholly acknowledged the power he carried inside him. It was Calamity Ganon’s power. Unmatched, unprecedented. Exhilarating. But for all its highs, it carried even darker lows. Link shuddered to think of what else he was capable of — of whatever the spirit was hinting at — if he dared dabble into his own darkness. He had already done so much damage. What more destruction could he wreak, if he actively sought it out, but couldn’t control it?

Link wrestled with himself for a moment or two. “...I’m not sure,” he finally mumbled. His grip tightened on the Slate as he gazed into its eye. “Y-you said you were Malice; _Ganon’s_ Malice.” His heart started to race as his mind wandered to his previous outbursts. The nauseating _crack_ of Maz Koshia’s neck and the garbled screams of Izer echoed in his ears.

Shivering, Link shook the memories out of his head, grunting, “How can I trust that? That poison...? How can I trust _you?”_

The spirit pondered for a moment before replying. _I have been with you since the beginning, Master,_ it wrote. _When you asked, I answered. Have I ever steered you wrong?_

Link’s eyes widened as he thought it over. Truth be told, the spirit wasn’t lying — when Link had asked it to guide him, it obeyed. And the Slate had been his longest, for lack of a better word, _companion_ following his resurrection. Link had carried both of them with him all this time, none the wiser as to the spirit within’s quirks, its personality, its motivations. Yet, for all its support and sacrifice, the spirit within the Slate had never given Link any reason to be wary of it.

That said, Maz Koshia sat up straighter, a chilling thought dawning on him. “Link…” he began. The monk cocked his head, wondering lowly, “How long has the Slate been speaking to you?”

For some reason, Link cowered as though he had been caught in a lie. He ducked his head, eyes darting through the grass. “I’m not sure exactly when it started, but i-it’s never been like _this,”_ he stammered.

But as soon as he said it out loud, Link’s brain spun with the realization that he was awfully right. The Slate _had_ spoken to him before, but only in short, cryptic answers and trills. Now, it was speaking in full-fledged sentences, actively participating in conversation with people other than himself. Though he yearned to tame his Malice, this knowledge only served as fuel for Link’s hesitations to trust the spirit.

A slew of new questions buzzed around in Link’s mind. Why was the spirit only now coming out of its proverbial shell? Why was it only now offering its... services?

Link turned back to the Slate, intent to find out why it was suddenly being so forthcoming. “If we’ve been together since the Shrine of Resurrection, then why haven’t you spoken to me like this until now?”

A slight pause.

_You haven’t needed my help until now,_ the spirit eventually responded.

Link’s heart stuttered. “What?” he gaped, blinking. “Who says I need your help?”

The Slate seemed offended; its lights flickered. _Oh, please, don’t pretend you know what you’re doing,_ it said. Everyone’s eyes widened. The spirit only bolstered their shock when it added, _Your past uses of your Malice were flukes. Accidents. You have no idea how to control your power; you’ve destroyed everything you’ve touched._

_You were trying to control it just now, but you were failing. I couldn’t just leave you to flounder in your own devices; I had to step in. Controlling Malice is possible, Master, but you will need my help. As I said, I live to serve you._ The Slate’s lights then glowed like coals. _Now, will you accept my help? Or would you rather ravage every person your Malice touches?_

Link recoiled against a sudden onslaught of memory from his outbursts, his Malice curdling in his veins. As he endeavored to clear his head, his gaze wandered to Maz Koshia, to the ragged hole in his throat peeking just below his veil. A bead of sweat crawled down from Link’s hairline at the reminder of the poison he had inadvertently placed inside the monk. All because he couldn’t control his power.

But this spirit — it said it could help him. Maybe with its help, he would never hurt anyone ever again?

Link’s posture sagged as his grip on the Slate tightened. His chest hollowed out. “I can’t — I can’t hurt anyone else...” he murmured. He exchanged a long glance with the Slate before he pointed a finger at its screen. “You promise you’ll show me how to control it?”

A symphony of light danced along the Slate’s decorative embellishments. _That and more. So much more,_ the spirit replied. _That was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To right the wrongs of Hyrule?_ _To tame the beast? I’m here to help, Master. I will gladly show you how. I promise._

Link’s body seized up. He tried to swallow the rock that had formed in his throat, but he couldn’t choke it down for some reason. As he knelt there, his mind swimming with his conversation with the spirit, the Sheikah Slate warmed again in his hands. The spirit’s final words lingered on its screen as if to convince him of its sincerity.

_I promise._

Link gave a shaky sigh, slowly lowering the Slate into his lap. He gazed emptily into the grass for a moment, mulling it all over. Raising his head, he looked to Purah, Symin, and Maz Koshia. “What do you guys think?” he wondered. “I… I think this might be worth a look. It’s just what we need. Wh-what I need.”

Maz Koshia studied the Slate in silence for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knee. Eventually, he responded, “I agree with you, Link. It couldn’t have come at a better time.” He shrugged. “As much as it pains me to say it, I do not fully understand how Malice functions, therefore I am a less-than-suitable teacher.” Gesturing to the Slate, he continued, “But who knows what this spirit could show you? Perhaps this is the teacher you truly need?”

Hearing this from the monk’s mouth helped soothe Link’s anxieties slightly. He shrugged. “Yeah… maybe…?” His gaze then wandered to Purah and Symin.

Purah nodded, though her shaken expression told a different story. “This is really, really weird, but, I’m with you, Link,” she said. “Every step of the way. Let’s see what it’s got.”

Symin, however, pursed his lips and shrunk back. “I don’t know...” He swallowed when he felt the spirit’s gaze turn on him. “But it’s not my decision to make.” He then raised his hands in solidarity. “Can you at least ask it if you can back out if things get... dangerous?”

Link thought on that for a moment. Symin’s suggestion was actually quite sound. After all, Link had no idea what the spirit was going to show him. Link’s brow furrowed as he turned to the Slate.

“Is that possible, spirit?” he asked.

The spirit found that question odd, but it nevertheless answered. _If you desire it, so be it, but I guarantee that won’t be an issue. No harm will come to you throughout all this. My only motivation is to serve my Master._

Maz Koshia’s eyes tightened. “Only motivation, hm?” he mumbled to himself.

Growing impatient, the Slate flashed its lights. _Well? I’m waiting,_ it urged.

Link’s gut fluttered at the spirit’s insistence. Clearly, it was more than eager to show him… _something._ He supposed he would have to find out what that was. With everyone’s input under consideration, and with a way to back out if need be, Link took a deep breath and brought the Slate up to his face. It glowed brighter, anticipating his response.

“Show me,” Link said.

_Finally._

The spirit wasted no time in getting started. With a chirp, the Slate’s display suddenly changed, giving way to a brand-new interface that Link had never seen before. Everyone gathered in closer. On the screen sat two rows of square icons, each bearing a unique glyph in their center. Puzzled as to what they were, Link inspected the top row. The first two icons were crimson glyphs of a circle and a square topped with looped handles; the third, a horseshoe-shaped magnet; the next, a padlock; then a snowflake; and finally, a box with a circular lens.

Link’s face scrunched. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at, nor why the spirit was showing these to him. But the Sheikah around him knew exactly what they were. The moment they laid eyes on the interface, they each did a double-take, leaning forward, their jaws dropping.

They ignored the icons on the top row, their gazes flying instead to the three at the bottom. Without Link’s input, the spirit highlighted each of the new Runes, showing them off.

The first was portrayed as a cluster of diamonds, labeled _Scatter Mines;_ the second was emblazoned with the Sheikah eye in vivid red, labeled _Laser;_ and, finally, the third showcased a small, minimalistic icon of what looked like a Guardian, labeled simply as _Guardian._

“Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?” Purah breathed. Symin and Maz Koshia gave slow nods.

“...Those are new,” the monk marveled.

Link’s brows furrowed. “ _New?”_ he repeated.

Maz Koshia gestured to the Slate, his finger shaking. “Those three Runes weren’t there, before…!”

“What do you mean? What are Runes?” Link wondered. He remembered Purah mentioning something about Runes when they were first introduced, but he couldn’t place what they were.

Thankfully, Purah chimed in, enlightening him, “Runes are applications — erm... _tools_ — built into the Slate. One can manipulate metallic objects, others can freeze water, create explosives, stop time.”

As he listened to Purah’s explanation, Link’s brain spun at the sheer variety of uses these Runes had. Sheikah technology still continued to surprise him. His eyes flicked back to the Slate’s screen. It was wild to imagine that he had been carrying these tools all this time, totally ignorant of his arsenal.

Meanwhile, Maz Koshia’s mind was similarly spiraling with bewilderment. Only it wasn’t for the Runes he knew. No, it was the new set of Runes that were yanking his world out from under him. He stammered, “I worked personally alongside the monks who designed these Runes — Oman, Keh, Ja, Owa — but those three… those were never programmed. Th-they don’t exist.”

_They do now,_ the spirit jeered. Maz Koshia’s breath caught at that.

_Care for a demonstration?_

“What?” was all Link had time to breathe before the spirit highlighted the _Guardian_ Rune.

A submenu opened, three additional options appearing. Each option bore its own unique glyph: the first was a smaller, more petite rendition of a Guardian; the second, what looked to be an inverted Guardian, crowned with propellers. The third submenu featured the same Guardian icon as the main Rune.

The spirit activated the first _Guardian_ submenu.

Everyone’s attention was yanked from the Slate’s screen and to the grass in front of them. A crimson light had begun to coalesce near the shoreline. Before their eyes, the light formed into an oddly-shaped figure, gradually solidifying. When it finally came into existence before them, Link cocked his head, gaping at it.

It was a miniature Guardian. A Scout. Small as it was compared to its larger cousins, it was still as tall as Link. The Scout was sculpted from dark stone, stood on three segmented legs, and bore a single blood-red eye in the center of its smooth, domed head. Like the Sheikah Slate, its body breathed with crimson light.

Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin recognized it in an instant. They all shot to their feet, Link following suit a split-second later. For a tense, suffocating moment, the Scout’s eye and their eyes locked as it stared at them, unblinking. Then, without warning, the machine _transformed,_ extending its central chassis and doubling in height. Link couldn’t believe his eyes.

He gasped when the Scout proceeded to unfurl two robotic arms, each equipped with a sword and shield respectively. Link recognized the sword from his training session with Maz Koshia. The shield’s craftsmanship matched the sword perfectly — forged from plasma that burned with an otherworldly blue light — providing the Scout protection as it skittered across the grass towards them, sword at the ready.

The eye on Maz Koshia’s veil caught fire; he immediately threw his arms out to shield Link, Purah, and Symin. Hunkering behind the monk’s ribs, Link’s stomach dropped as his eyes flew between Maz Koshia and the Scout. He had felt that blade before. There was no way Maz Koshia’s body could withstand it. He’d be shredded to smoking ribbons. As the horrible thought struck him, Link winced against a sudden swell of anxiety deep in his gut. His grip on the Slate tightened, his jaw clamping shut.

“Spirit?! What is this?!” Link panicked.

But it didn’t respond. Meanwhile, the Scout continued its advance. But, to everyone’s shock, it didn’t attack them. No, as it came closer, it redirected its pathing, skirting about while keeping its eye riveted to them. Maz Koshia tucked Link, Purah, and Symin behind him as he shuffled to face the Scout. It circled them a few times, its sword and shield raised. Yet, for some reason, it refused to attack.

Link, now clenching down on the Slate in a death-grip, felt the device buzz in his hands. He risked a glance at its screen. To his horror, it activated the second _Guardian_ submenu.

The Scout ceased its patrol around them for a moment to cast its gaze into the sky. Everyone froze, gaping at it for a moment before their attentions were pulled skyward as well. Another cloud of light was gathering high above their heads — only this one was absolutely enormous. Their jaws dropped when whatever-was-inbound finally came into existence above them.

The Sheikah had christened it a Skywatcher, and it was by far the strangest Guardian Link had ever seen. Like the Scout, its body glowed with crimson light, but it hung upside down and lacked legs entirely, instead equipped with great propellers that held it aloft in the air. They all cowered when it turned its eye on them. A blinding spotlight shot from its iris, painting them with a pool of hot red light.

Symin immediately lost strength in his knees, falling to his backside on the grass. Propped up on his hands, he gawked at the Skywatcher, his lungs shriveling with terror.

Next to him, Purah wheezed, “Ohmygoddess, ohmygoddess — !” She flung herself into Symin’s arm, ingraining her nails into his sleeve and shuddering close to him.

Link barely heard her over the intense chopping of the Skywatcher’s propellers. Their hair and clothes whipped as strong downdrafts tore into them. Helpless as they were in the Skywatcher’s shadow, it, miraculously, didn’t fire upon them either, circling them instead, joining the Scout as it resumed its patrol. Now totally surrounded, everyone’s gazes flitted rapidly between either machine, their eyes bulging and their faces drained of color.

“Link…!” Maz Koshia said, his chest heaving. He stumbled back a little, his hand flying to Link’s shoulder. When he turned his head, a passing snap of wind lifted his veil, revealing his glowing eyes, alight with panic. “Link, what is it doing?!”

“I-I don’t know!” Link wheezed. His legs had turned to lead, an ocean of fear sloshing in his gut. He had no idea what to do. No idea what to say. He knew he had brought this upon them by agreeing to heed the spirit. He raised the Sheikah Slate, shooting it a wild look. “ _What are you doing?!”_ he cried, his voice breaking. “How is this going to — !”

But he cut off when a spike of bitter cold pierced his hand, shooting up his arm and into his brain. A voice — one that was not his own — crept inside his mind, slicing through his fear. The voice was dark and sonorous; it rang in every corner of his skull, sharp like a knife with wit and cunning.

_There now, can you hear me, Master?_ it asked. Link’s strangled gasp was enough of an answer for the spirit. It chuckled — no, _he_ chuckled; the voice in Link’s mind was male — continuing, _Good, good. Our bond is stronger than I thought. This makes communication so much easier, wouldn’t you agree? I was getting sick of typing, anyway._

Link choked on his voice, giving a guttural grunt. His hand clamped against his temple. The spirit’s presence had paralyzed his brain. All he could do was listen. His head swam with dizzying heat, making him sway.

Maz Koshia noticed Link’s reaction. Though oblivious to the spirit’s entry into Link’s mind, the monk squinted at him, probing, “...Link?!”

But Link couldn’t hear him. The spirit’s voice filled his ears, drowning out all outside noise as he began, _Contrary to what your past experiences may have you believe, you CAN control your Malice, Master. You just need the proper... motivation._

Link, petrified by both the spirit’s presence and his words, was unable to watch him activate the final _Guardian_ Rune.

They were each too preoccupied to notice a third light coming into fruition above the waters of Lake Sumac. When the light eventually formed a solid body, it landed with a mighty splash in the lake, shaking the earth and dumping a tidal wave against the shoreline. Everyone’s gazes — including the Scout, the Skywatcher, and the Sheikah Slate — flew to the lake, where they beheld their new arrival.

Link’s heart crushed in his chest, his blood flushing with white-hot terror when he saw it — an active, enormous, six-legged mobile Guardian. A Stalker. Even at a distance, it utterly eclipsed them in both stature and menace. It, too, burned with an evil crimson light, its eye immediately zeroing in on them, studying them, before it focused upon Link. It recognized the tunic he wore.

He turned to stone beneath its gaze. A shudder rattled his spine when the spirit whispered to him, _Something familiar about this Guardian, Master? You share some history with it. Can you guess what that is?_

Unable to wrest his gaze away, Link took a closer look at the machine. Though he had only seen a few Guardians since his resurrection, their features were nevertheless ingrained into his memory. But there was something different about this particular Guardian. It was severely damaged, its stone body rugged with chips and dents and cracks. Its inner mechanisms were exposed in places, rivers of sludgy Malice pulsating along its pistons. As it rose out of the water, Link’s gaze flew to one of its legs. It had six legs, but only five feet. One foot was distinctly missing.

Link’s skull suddenly spliced with pain. He convulsed, his hand flying to his third eye. He pinched his eyes shut as he was wrenched away from the lakeside and thrust into an entirely different place within his own mind — one that time and death had hidden from him. One that the spirit was forcing him to relive.

_Try, Master. Try to remember..._

When Link reopened his eyes, the scenery he found himself surrounded by was completely new, as vivid and real as the blinding terror scalding his veins. He could see it, feel it, smell it. It was as if he had been plucked from his body and placed into another one somewhere far away.

The sky suffocated with heavy, ashen clouds. Rain lashed on Link’s skin as he ran through an expanse of blazing grassland. Wind whipped at his hair, sopping with sweat and mud and blood. His throat burned with fatigue and from the ashes adrift in the air. But he couldn’t pause to catch his breath. He had to keep running. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, while the other held fast to her as he tugged her in his wake. He held her hand as though his life depended on it.

“ _Just a bit further!”_ she gasped. “ _We can make it!”_

Though he didn’t respond, he knew they would. Together.

Through the roaring of his pulse in his ears, Link heard it again — the unmistakable, heavy laboring of a machine. He cast his gaze over his shoulder to glimpse the hulking silhouettes of the troop of Guardians pursuing them.

He cursed. Goddesses above, these things were relentless. He couldn’t shake them, not even through the Dueling Peaks. But the Fort was close. All he had to do was get to it. If he could make it there, he would be safe. _She_ would be safe. Exhausted, yet driven by adrenaline and hope alone, they forced their feet on toward the sanctuary of the Fort.

But Link had failed to take into account just how many Guardians were on their tail. He skidded to a sudden halt, the girl bumping into him, as he spotted a pair of Stalkers prowling ahead. Their unfeeling eyes scanned the terrain voraciously, but by some miracle, Link and the girl were overlooked. But their luck wouldn’t last.

Thinking quickly, Link’s gaze flew to a nearby pile of dead Guardians, their bodies smashed to pieces. It appeared that Daruk hadn’t held back with these ones. They would make a decent spot for Link and the girl to get their bearings. Firming his grip on her hand, Link ducked his head and pulled her with him to their respite.

He ensured she was safely tucked away before he looked about and planned their escape route. He could see the Fort from there, beckoning to them through the smog and the rain. They had a clear shot, just across the path through the low hills. Grabbing the girl’s hand, he motioned for the Fort and bade her follow him.

But just as they were about to move, Link and the girl were bathed in a grisly crimson glow. Link froze in his tracks, slowly turning his head. Both their bodies locked up as they watched another infested machine perch itself atop the Guardian remains, looming above them. This one had met with the other Champions, no doubt, its body riddled with gouges, its machinery bare in places. Its head whirled about in search of something else to eradicate. The girl’s free hand flew to her mouth, stifling a whimper of terror; Link gripped her hand tighter, bracing himself. But the Guardian didn’t look down. Perhaps it hadn’t seen them?

For a moment, it appeared as if it hadn’t. But as the Guardian raised itself higher to better gauge the terrain, its foot slipped on the slick bodies of its fallen brothers, plunging toward Link and the girl. Link, stood directly beneath it, shoved her out of the way as the Guardian toppled over. One of its feet shot out to break its fall. Link scrambled back, but the Guardian’s talons met his abdomen, forcing him down and pinning him to the ground. He was helpless to escape as its tremendous weight bore down on him, its foot piercing his flesh and sinking into his body.

His ribs crunched into shrapnel, shredding his crushed organs. His ragged wound spurted with a _squelch._ Link pitched back, a splitting scream erupting from his throat; he howled so hard the blood vessels in his eyes burst.

The girl, strewn in the mud, flushed ghost-white with horror. “ _LINK!”_ she shrieked.

Beneath the weight of the Guardian, Link’s pulverized stomach heaved, something hot climbing up his ragged throat. With blood dripping down his chin, he somehow soldiered through the pain and regained control over his erratic breath, swinging his sword at the Guardian’s leg. The sacred blade sliced through it, sludge spraying out, gushing down its leg and into his wound.

The machine staggered. Freed from its weight, and with the aid of the manic adrenaline surging through his body, Link flipped over, clambered to his feet, and pulled the Guardian’s foot from his abdomen, casting it aside. It had torn his tunic, leaving behind a soddened, shredded mess of flesh and cloth that sizzled and smoked.

Clutching his abdomen, Link jammed his sword into the ground to hold himself up on his swaying feet. Fighting to stay upright, he shook his head, blinking blood out of his eyes. He didn’t pause to look once at the Guardian as it struggled back into autonomy. It didn’t matter that he’d been wounded. No doubt, his scream had alerted the other Guardians. They had to move. _Now._

Link stumbled toward the girl, grabbing her by the shoulder and hoisting her to her feet. Without a word, he ushered her forward. She didn’t even flinch against his hand smearing her skin and her white dress with his blood, doing as he urged her. And as they shambled off toward the Fort, they clung to each other, their bodies drawing close.

She laid a hand on his fluttering heart. “ _You’re all right — y-you’ll be all right, Link,”_ she breathed.

Link tried to look into her eyes to reassure her, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Her face — it was blurry, impossible to make out. His own face contorted as he strained to take her in, but the harder he focused, the more distant she became. It was only until a voice slithered into his brain that Link recognized what was happening, what he had just experienced.

He had remembered something — a gruesome memory that had slumbered inside him. He let out a ragged exhale, his chest hollowing out. Silent tears had since leaked out of his bone mask — what for, he couldn’t say — but he was too numb to feel them.

The spirit’s voice returned to him, dispelling the remnants of his memories and pulling him back to the present — to the now-familiar Guardian as it clawed its way out of Lake Sumac. The spirit purred, making Link’s brain itch, _Remembering it now?_

Link finally found his voice. But when it came out of his mouth, it was rough, scarred. “I remember…”

The spirit went on, spitting, _You saw what it did to you. Everything that’s happened to you, Master — all the pain you’ve dealt to yourself and others… is all this Guardian’s fault._ _It was an accident. YOU are an accident. Now how does that make you feel?_

Link’s heart stopped. He stared, emptily, at the Guardian that had turned the tides of his fate — by _accident._ Dear goddess, it was an _accident._ His death, his infection, his struggles and his losses were all because of this machine and the poison that had leaked out of it. But it didn’t care what it had done, that it had single-handedly set in motion the events that had turned him into what he was.

Link knew exactly how that made him feel. The spirit’s words awakened something familiar within him. Something primal. _Monstrous._ Before, it would have sent him reeling with fear. But not then. At that moment, Link welcomed it. Even savored it.

Link’s hands balled into fists, a snarl curling his lip. His Malice boiled in his blood, each of his eyes igniting with bitter fire. As he stared at the Guardian, his senses sharpened; colors became more vivid, his ears perked to listen to the whirring of the Guardian’s inner workings. He could even smell the acrid stench of the Malice inside of it. His breath began to race, hot and caustic — it billowed out of his mouth in a black cloud.

_Feel it, Master,_ the spirit encouraged. His voice electrified Link’s Malice. _Embrace it._

And for once in his life, Link did. He was ready. He wanted this. He _needed_ this.

As Link’s Malice primed, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin’s eyes fell on him. They stared at his dramatic change in demeanor. Link suddenly wasn’t himself. They had no idea of the malevolent storm brewing inside him. For a moment, Link forgot they were even there as tunnel vision set in, honing in his gaze on one thing. The Guardian. That was all he cared about — and all he listened to was the spirit as he continued to whisper in his mind.

_Go on,_ he said. _Impress me._

As if on cue, the Guardian’s eye flashed — it aimed its reticle at Maz Koshia, Purah, Symin, and Link. The three Sheikah jolted.

“Link?!” Maz Koshia cried.

That was all the incentive Link needed. The Guardian had already damaged him — he’d be damned if he let it even touch his friends.

Link’s spitfire breath hissed through his bared teeth as his Malice stormed through his body like an avalanche. A deluge of adrenaline surged into his every cell, bolstering his vindictive desire. It was nothing short of intoxicating. His companions watched with dread and amazement as two twisting tentacles of Malice burst out of Link’s shoulders. They encircled his neck, engulfing both of his arms and coating them in a thick mire of poison.

Like a wolf for his prey, Link leapt into action, darting around Maz Koshia and toward the Guardian just as it released its deadly laser from its iris. Undaunted, Link dove straight into the oncoming beam of light, raising an arm as if to intercept it. When the beam met his Malice, he swiped his arm skyward. It was almost instinctual. The light glanced off of him, shooting into the air and directly hitting the Skywatcher above. The machine swayed, its propellers stuttering. Purah screamed.

But the Skywatcher was not Link’s prize. He continued his advance on the Stalker, unleashing a feral roar as he thrust his other arm toward it. Obeying his rage, his Malice extended, surging for the Guardian’s eye like a rocket. Link didn’t hold back. Not an ounce. His Malice punched through the machine’s eye, shattering it, before delving deeper, melting its circuits until it exploded out the back of its head in a shower of sparks and sludge.

The Guardian was knocked backward, its lights stuttering. Link pulled his Malice back and skidded to a halt, watching it tip over and crash into the lake. Twisted glee frothed in Link’s chest, a grin spreading his lips. He didn’t even blink when the Guardian detonated like a bomb, flinging shrapnel and Malice in all directions. The ensuing blast wave launched Link back into his companions. They all ended up piled near the tree line in a heap.

Everyone lay still for a moment, dazed by what they had seen, their ears ringing. It had suddenly gone deathly quiet — they could hear their gasping and the water lapping at the shore. They raised their heads, glancing about. But the silence only lasted a moment before the Skywatcher dropped from the sky, landing with another massive _boom_ on top of the Scout mere feet away from them. Luckily for them, the Skywatcher didn’t explode, but they nevertheless anticipated it; they instead shielded themselves from a shower of dirt and machine parts raining upon them.

When the dust had settled, Link sat bolt upright, adrenaline still barreling through his veins. He gaped at the smoking husk of the Guardian protruding out of the lake, magenta fire curling off of it. He couldn’t stop a triumphant cackle from bubbling out of him. He had done that. He’d taken his revenge on that cursed machine. It had felt _amazing._

He clenched his fists and raised them above his head, cheering, “YEAH! HA HA!” Whirling around, he faced his companions, beaming, “Did you see that?!”

They had seen it. But they weren’t laughing. Grateful and amazed as they were, they had each just witnessed a side of Link that disturbed them to their cores. Purah and Symin clung to each other, their faces pale. They endeavored not to look as horrified as they were feeling, offering Link weak nods. Maz Koshia, meanwhile, inspected Link from his slowly-fading smile to the Malice that still smothered his arms.

The monk breathed, “Link… th-that was… incredible.”

Link’s thrill suddenly fizzled, his heart murmuring in his chest. He’d felt those gazes before. Blood chilling, his gaze drifted down to the Malice coating both of his hands before his head swiveled back to what remained of the Stalker. Good goddess — _he had done that._ Taken his revenge on that machine.

They all jumped when a familiar trill roused them. Suddenly breathless, Link’s sludgy hand snatched up the Sheikah Slate. He held it up for everyone to see, reading its new message. The spirit’s words rang in his skull as clearly as they appeared on its screen, making him shiver.

_Excellent work, Master! Bravo!_ the spirit congratulated, glittering with pride. _Couldn’t have done it better myself. Consider this a taste of what I can do — and what you can do. But don’t get cocky, now. You still have much to learn. For now, I’ll take that. You won’t be needing it. I’m exhausted..._

Link was about to ask what he meant when a bizarre sensation struck him: he felt a distinct tugging deep in his gut, behind his navel. It was as if something were squeezing his insides. He grimaced and doubled over, his grip on the Sheikah Slate tightening without his control. Eyes widening, he watched the Malice on his arms slowly begin to creep downward of its own accord, absorbing into the Sheikah Slate. The spirit was taking it for itself.

Purah and Symin scrambled away. Maz Koshia remained in place, knotting his fingers into the grass as his lungs burned. Link stared, squirming against the uncomfortable sensation. It was all he could do. All any of them could do. Eventually, the spirit drew in the last of Link’s Malice, returning him to normal. When the spirit had gotten his fill, the Slate hummed, the eye returning to its screen. It seemed as though it were finished.

Link’s brow crinkled. He must have been missing something. Granted, what they had just seen, and what he’d just done, had been nothing short of exhilarating — perhaps even a bit disturbing. But Link couldn’t help but feel that there was more to his Malice than that. Something the spirit wasn’t showing him.

Link raised the Slate, prodding, “Wait, that’s all you’re going to show me?!”

The spirit chuckled. _Patience, Master,_ he cooed, both in Link’s mind and on the Slate. _Make no mistake — I intend to show you perfect mastery of your Malice. But not now._

Link took his chin back. “What? Why not now?”

_Now is not the right time._

As soon as the spirit’s words appeared on the screen, they abruptly vanished. In their stead, a set of six numbers materialized. Everyone leaned in to get a better look. With each passing second, the numbers on the far side of the set flickered lower and lower. Link quickly realized that the spirit was showing him time. Seventy-two hours… and counting down.

Link’s stomach sunk with each second ticking by. “What is this for?” he gasped.

But to everyone’s horror, the spirit simply replied, _You’ll see._

Link gawped at the countdown, a wave of defiant heat swelling through him. He shook his head, eyes widening. “I-I don’t understand…! What are you waiting for?!” he pressed. But the spirit was being less than helpful. He merely stared at him.

Link couldn’t comprehend it. Not a minute ago, the spirit had champed at the bit to teach him — why was he being so cryptic again? Unable to get anything else from the spirit, Link’s head snapped up, his gaze flying to Maz Koshia. “Maz, what do you — Maz?!”

Link cut off when he found the monk hunkered over, clutching his chest. His ribs rattled as he fought to douse the fire in his lungs. He stared at the Slate, the Malice in his throat bubbling. “I don’t understand it either, Link,” he grunted, shaking his head as well. “But… s-something isn’t right. I can feel it...”

“What do we do?!” Purah asked, tossing her hands up. “What’s going to happen in seventy-two hours?!”

Their panic was delighting the spirit. He rather enjoyed seeing them sweat. He couldn’t resist offering them _just_ a little more. The spirit chirped, recapturing their frantic gazes. He tempted them with, _Something beautiful,_ before darkening the Slate’s screen.

Everyone froze. When their senses returned to them, they all immediately whirled on Maz Koshia for answers. If anyone knew, he would. But he was beside himself with bewilderment, his mind foggy as he struggled to breathe. He shook his head again, choking back a cough. “Seventy-two hours… Three days….? What could it possibly be waiting for… three days away?”

Something caught the monk’s attention, then, wrenching his gaze beyond the lakeside. Everyone turned toward whatever he was looking at, their ears perking. A chorus of voices drifted on the wind, sounding from the trail that snaked up the hill. They each exchanged a brief glance before Symin jumped to his feet, darting away to get a better look.

He skidded to a halt when he saw it. Tangling his fingers in his hair, he cried, “It’s the town! They must’ve seen the Skywatcher — heard all the racket!” Turning, he shot Link and Maz Koshia a stiff look, adding, “And you’ll never guess who’s leading them.”

Link and Maz Koshia immediately came to the same conclusion. Bolson. Maz Koshia slapped a palm against his forehead. “Persistent, that one. Urgh…” Swallowing, he glanced around at the devastation littering the lakeside before he turned his gaze on Link. Pursing his lips, the monk heaved himself up on shaking knees to his feet, Link and Purah joining him.

The moment he was upright, the monk lost his balance. Link was immediately in his shadow, catching him. Maz Koshia leaned heavily on Link’s shoulder, looking to Purah and Symin. “Link and I can’t stay here,” he breathed. “We will only make things worse, I’m afraid.”

Link remembered with a rush of panic his face was fully exposed. If the sight of Maz Koshia didn’t send the villagers screaming, then his face would surely do the job. He ground his jaw, keeping the monk steady as he swayed on his feet.

Purah frowned, but urged them on. “Head to the lab. We’ll meet up later.” Scampering toward Symin, she called, “Better get those lying pants on, Symin!”

He shifted his feet, sighing. “Already on, Director.”

Link flinched when Maz Koshia’s grip tightened on his shoulder, his nails digging into his skin. The monk thrust his free hand forward, grimacing as blue light began to gather on his fingertips. “C’mon, Link. We need to talk,” he mumbled. Link, feeling feverish for some reason, pinched his eyes shut as the monk’s light consumed them, breaking them apart before whisking them away from the lakeside.

When they materialized into existence at the lab’s doorstep, Maz Koshia’s breath punched out of his lungs as he broke into another round of wet coughing. His legs gave out. He hit the ground with a grunt. Awash with panic, Link flew to his aid, kneeling beside him and laying a trembling hand on his spasming spine. All he could do was kneel beside the monk, clinging to him while he struggled to regain his breath.

Thankfully, the monk didn’t suffer for very long. When the fit subsided, it went quiet, the only sound his ragged breath.

“Maz…?” Link asked, his voice agitating the rigid silence.

The monk didn’t look at him, his gaze fixed into the dirt. He sighed, his fingers curling. “...Why didn’t you tell me about the Slate?” he murmured, his voice rough. “That it was speaking to you?”

Link recoiled against a pang of guilt that stabbed him in the gut. His shoulders sank. “I-I never meant to keep it a secret, Maz, it just…” He drifted off, only to cower beneath the monk’s gaze when he suddenly turned on him. Link swallowed. “It never occurred to me. I’m sorry.

Maz Koshia inspected him, making him squirm. “Well… what has it told you?”

Link hung his head. “Not much. Really. It...” Link’s mind suddenly shone with the spirit’s words. Its revelations. Raising his head, he added, “But it said that my infection… it was an accident.”

Maz Koshia blinked, stiffening. “Accident?”

Link was about to respond when he was abruptly pulled out of their conversation. The spirit scoffed inside his head. Clearly, he was listening in. _Would you look at that?_ the spirit jeered. _Even our all-knowing monk had no idea. Some servant of the Goddess he is. What a joke._

The spirit’s snide remark sent a flash of anger across Link’s brow. How dare he speak like that about Maz Koshia? Link straightened, his hand flying to his temple. A huff of disdain blasted out of his nostrils.

But before he could challenge the spirit, Maz Koshia gave a start at Link’s out-of-the-blue reaction. He cocked his head, wondering, “Link? Are you all right?”

Link fidgeted with anxiety at the reminder of the spirit’s presence in his head. He hadn’t told Maz Koshia about this, either. His stomach flipped. “Th-there’s something else, Maz,” Link began, his voice little more than a murmur, as if trying not to alert the spirit. But he listened all the same. “It’s in my head — _he’s_ in my head. I-I can hear him.”

Maz Koshia was aghast, his veil igniting. “ _What?!”_ he hissed. “Who, the _spirit?”_

Link nodded.

The monk’s face contorted beneath his veil. “When did this happen?!” he sputtered.

“Just now,” Link replied, twisting his head in the direction of the lake. “And… he showed me something. He helped me remember. The day I fell, Maz.” Link pursed his lips. “He showed me everything.”

Maz Koshia scrambled upright and seized Link by the shoulder, wrenching his attention back to him. He leaned in close to Link’s face. “Tell me what you saw,” the monk urged, his voice gaining a stern edge.

Link obeyed, retelling every gritty detail of what the spirit had shown him. The flaming field, the Guardians pursuing him, the girl he had been running with. When the Stalker pierced him. When Link had finished his tale, the monk’s eyes flickered between Link’s face and the Sheikah Slate, his mind a whirlwind.

The monk leaned back, releasing a weary sigh. “Has it revealed anything else?” he wondered. “Anything at all?”

Link shook his head.

For a few moments, Maz Koshia simply watched the Sheikah Slate, hoping to catch it doing _something._ They both knew the other was staring — they exchanged silent glances for what felt like an eternity before the monk finally shook his head.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,” he breathed. He drove his fist into the ground. “We were foolish to indulge it… Curse your curiosity, Maz Koshia…!”

Grumbling to himself, the monk rose to his feet, shuffling toward the front door of the lab. Link watched, concerned and slightly puzzled, as the monk’s fingertip lit up with blue light. He began to scrawl out a message on one of the doors in light-based ink. When he had finished his message, he shambled back to Link, taking him by the shoulder and ushering him toward a grassy incline at the edge of the courtyard. Another path down the windward side of the cliff shot down beneath them. Link swiveled his head to catch a glimpse of whatever-it-was that Maz Koshia had written.

_Left with Link. Will return. - Maz Koshia_

Link, brows furrowed, turned back to the monk to find his hands aglow again. Link tilted his head, wondering, “We going somewhere, Maz?”

The monk didn’t face him; he was deep in concentration, replying with a mute nod. Curious, Link stood beside him, waiting for his light to coat them and warp them away. Only it didn’t. Instead, Link watched a cloud of blue light begin to manifest before them, gradually solidifying just as the Guardians had. When whatever-was-coming successfully formed, Link did a double-take.

Sheikah technology still continued to stupefy him. The machine that Maz Koshia had summoned was unlike anything he had ever seen. It wasn’t a Guardian, but something else entirely. It stood around Link’s height, with a sleek, vaguely horse-like silhouette, crafted from dark stone and decorated with elegant accents. Spots of blue light dappled its body. It had a set of handlebars and balanced on two wheels, one in front and one in back, its engine rumbling. It bounced softly, almost eagerly, as it waited for them to mount it.

Link stared, awed by the strange vehicle, when the Sheikah Slate vibrated on his hip. _Ooh, what have we here?_ the spirit purred in his mind. The spirit’s captivation for the vehicle made Link’s head swill with nauseous excitement.

Link winced against the spirit’s voice, pressing his hand to his temple. Maz Koshia’s attention jerked from the vehicle and to Link, his spine stiffening as he took in Link’s expression. Without saying a word, the monk pointed at the Sheikah Slate before pointing to his head. Link, understanding his meaning, nodded.

The monk scowled. His fists balled up till his knuckles cracked. He hobbled over to the vehicle and straddled its seat, taking it by one of its handlebars. “Get on,” he ordered.

Link came forward, both his own curiosity and the spirit’s guiding his feet. “What is that, Maz?” he asked. “W-where are we going?”

The monk only replied once Link had seated himself in front of him. His long, bony arms encircled Link as he gripped the vehicle’s handlebars.

“Somewhere without any spies,” the monk said lowly.

Without a word of warning, Maz Koshia snatched the Sheikah Slate from Link’s belt and flung it aside. He then hit the accelerator, launching them onto the path down the cliffside.

_HEY! WHAT ARE YOU —_ the spirit shouted.

Link’s body convulsed. His heart exploded with panic, his gut writhing. His ears split as the Sheikah Slate unleashed a violent, high-pitched shriek — it filled his skull and burst from the device itself, shattering the air. Maz Koshia cringed against it, but he wasn’t moved.

Link slapped his hands against the body of the vehicle, crying, “Maz?! Maz, what are you doing?!” He tossed his head over his shoulder, barely glimpsing the Slate as it hit the grass, a torrent of Malice erupting from it. Link reached for the handlebars, grimacing. “ _Go back! I-I need it!”_

But Maz Koshia refused. He stamped harder on the acceleration, throwing Link back into him. As Link continued to hyperventilate with panic, the monk wrapped an arm around him, tucking him close. “You don’t need it, Link. _It_ needs _you,”_ he replied, his voice firm.

Link gripped the monk’s wrist, wheezing. “What?!”

“Your infection may have been an accident, but that spirit was put into the Slate for a reason,” Maz Koshia stated. “I may not know what that reason is, but it’s not being as forthright as it should be.” Maz Koshia held Link tighter. “It’s hiding something, Link. Plotting something. It’s playing with us. And it’s enjoying it.”

Link’s stomach flushed with anxiety at Maz Koshia’s words. He realized the monk was right. The countdown that the spirit had started… he hadn’t told Link what was coming. He conveniently left that ambiguous, teasing them. Just what was he plotting? What was he waiting for? And if he claimed to serve Link… then why wasn’t he telling him anything? Link came to the awful realization that he had put his trust into something he shouldn’t have — but all too late.

“Oh my goddess…!” Link breathed. “What have I done?! I-I let it in… I _listened_ to it…!”

The monk shook his head. “It wasn’t just you, Link. We all had equal say in trusting it. I goaded you on. I should have known better. I was too blinded by my desire to tame your Malice. But after seeing what it’s done, I don’t trust it as far as I can throw it. I needed to get you away from it — to get it out of your head.”

Maz Koshia hit the acceleration again. Briny wind battered them as they flew down the cliffside trail, descending a series of sharp switchbacks. In spite of his injuries, Maz Koshia drove the vehicle with all the deft of a master rider, banking the hairpin turns lining the cliffside with a mere flick of his elbow. He could have done it with his eyes closed.

The further they traveled from the Sheikah Slate, the more faint the spirit’s raging became until, eventually, Link’s mind and body quieted. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, a vise on his brain released — he felt like he could breathe, think, again. He slumped into Maz Koshia, releasing a sigh of relief.

“Better?” Maz Koshia wondered.

“Better,” Link said. “Th-thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the monk replied.

After tearing down the trail, they finally reached the beach. Maz Koshia drifted the vehicle to a sand-slinging halt at the base of the cliff, cutting the engine. He paused, falling quiet for a moment, his hands still tightly gripping the handlebars.

“Are we alone, Link?” the monk asked reverently.

Link looked along the vast stretch of sea and sand spreading before them. Apart from a few scattered palm trees and crabs scuttling the surf, no one was around.

“Yeah, Maz, we’re alone,” Link replied, puzzled.

Maz Koshia squeezed the handlebars, repeating, “Link — _are we alone?_ Completely?”

Link suddenly realized what he meant. He paused, retreating into his own head for a moment. Nothing. He turned his gaze back to Maz Koshia. “He’s not here.”

The monk’s shoulders slumped. “Thank Hylia for that,” he wheezed. Releasing his grip on the handlebars, he dismounted the vehicle, stumbling a few steps before he cast his gaze upon the ocean. Link joined him, drinking in the glittering blue water and the waves.

The monk sighed, reaching up and pulling down his veil to allow the sea breeze to wash over his face. His brow wrinkled with worry. His tone was anxious as he mused, “It seems that for every answer we get, we uncover another slew of questions, doesn’t it?” He hung his head. “What are we going to do about that spirit...? We’re going to have to go back up there eventually.”

Link frowned. The monk was right on all accounts, as always. “I don’t know, Maz…” His hands rolled into fists. “I-if I had just said no to it, then we wouldn’t be in this mess. This is all my fault.”

Turning, the monk knelt and laid a hand on Link’s shoulder. “No, don’t think like that,” he said softly. “Don’t misunderstand me, Link — you only agreed to what it told you. _It_ changed the game on us by starting up that countdown. That wasn’t your fault.” He gave him a reassuring smile. “You did very well back there with your Malice. You were perfect. That was just what we wanted. In that regard, the spirit was true. But...” Maz Koshia paused, searching Link’s face. “You changed. I’ve never seen you like that. It was… disturbing. I am only growing cautious of the spirit because of its methods, what it did to you, the secrets it’s withholding, its... _attitude._ I worry it may not have your best interests at heart.”

Maz Koshia then squeezed Link’s shoulder, pleading, “Please — as your teacher, as a monk, as your friend — please, for the love of the Goddesses, do not trust that spirit. Heed his teachings with regards to your Malice, but _do not listen to a word he says._ He may claim to serve you, but I have no doubt he is externally motivated. If he is _Malice,_ then he was sent by Ganon. We still don’t know why the beast brought you back to life. This spirit might have even had something to do with it. We just don’t know. And it seems the spirit won’t tell.”

Link’s gut churned at that. He wanted to drop to the sand and wallow in his own doubt and fear, but Maz Koshia held him in his gaze, inspiriting him. “Can you promise me that, Link?” he began. “That you won’t let this spirit get to you? That you’ll keep your head, in spite of its whisperings, no matter how attractive they may be?”

In spite of his lofty request, Link found solace in the monk’s earnest, glowing eyes. He nodded. “I promise. I won’t...” His jaw ground, the horror on Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin’s faces bleeding into his mind. “I won’t let it change me.”

Maz Koshia smiled. “That’s my boy,” he said. “I believe in you. Always have. Always will.” Pausing, he admired Link’s tunic before he turned his gaze out to the beach. “Right now, I don’t want to worry about Malice or spirits or corruption.” He looked to Link, gently poking him on the chest. “I’m here for _you,_ Link. The Champion of Hyrule. That’s all. Now, what do you say we do some training? Just you and me? Like I promised?”

Link’s uncertainty retreated at the monk’s proposal. A hopeful smile found his lips. “I’d like that,” he said.

A twinkle shone in Maz Koshia’s eye. He heaved himself to his feet, musing, “Well then, I’d say you’ll need some equipment. I should have a few things here…”

The monk’s hands glowed again. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a slew of tools: an ancient sword and shield, along with a large bow of similar design, a Guardian Scout (aglow with blue light, not red), and the vehicle they had ridden in on. With the spread of tools before them, the monk invited Link to equip himself, which he did gladly. Wearing his new equipment, and with Maz Koshia raring to teach him, Link felt more whole then than he ever had.

Maz Koshia spread his arms, his veil igniting keenly. “Let’s get started, hero.”

Link and Maz Koshia spent the rest of the day training on Hateno Beach. Amidst the surf and sand, Link sparred with the monk’s Scout, shot at glowing targets with his ancient bow and arrows — both while stationary and while riding the monk’s vehicle; a thrill he repeated for hours and hours — and battled with a small armada of Maz Koshia’s copies. They made for perfect training partners, adept with a sword, yet unable to feel pain, diffusing into a shower of light when struck. Link must have “slain” a hundred or so of them by the time the day was out.

Meanwhile, Maz Koshia watched from the sidelines, from either beneath a palm tree or while carefully pacing around. He issued commands, offered Link motivation, praised or critiqued his form. And when Link eventually tired by late afternoon, they meditated in the shade, listening to the surf. As the sun began to set, Maz Koshia told Link stories — stories of his day, of legends and fairytales of old. Link couldn’t get enough of his tales.

Through it all, they laughed, they joked, they enjoyed each other’s company. Both of them forgot the poison inside them and the weight of their futures on their shoulders. That day, they were each the other's world entirely. And that was enough.

When the sun finally set beyond the watery horizon, and waves of twilight soaked the sand, Maz Koshia decided to call it a night. Sand clung to the sweat on Link’s brow and crusted his clothes. His hair was wild, his arms and legs sore, but his smile was wide.

Maz Koshia brushed some sand off of Link’s shoulder, chuckling, “We’d best return to the lab and get you cleaned up and fed. Purah and Symin will be expecting us.”

As they walked back toward the monk’s vehicle, Link’s brow furrowed. In the heat of their training, the vehicle’s history and origins had never been brought up. Link had ridden it without a second thought. “You never did tell me what this is, Maz,” Link began, gesturing to it.

The monk grinned. “This is one of my, erm, more unorthodox inventions. The other monks didn’t quite understand why I built it. Most were too afraid to even ride it. But I didn’t make it for them. I made it for you.” When they reached it, Maz Koshia laid his hand on one of its handlebars. Its engine revved. He continued proudly, “This, Link, is the Master Cycle. A Beast beyond the Divine Four.” He held out his hand, a flat disc of blue light appearing in his palm. It featured a small icon resembling the Master Cycle.

The monk beamed at Link. “And I want you to have it. It won’t be much use to me when I pass on.”

Link’s eyes glittered as he plucked the disc from Maz Koshia’s hand. Enchanted as he was by the monk’s gift, Link’s shoulders sagged, his awe abruptly fading. The gift came across as bittersweet in the wake of Maz Koshia’s news earlier that morning.

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving…” Link murmured.

Maz Koshia pursed his lips, shifting his feet. Somehow, he knew this would come up again. He sighed. “Once my duty is complete, I must return to the Goddess. That was our agreement.” He shrugged. “Besides, after I’m through teaching you, you won’t need me anymore.”

Link gave a snort. “Says you. I’ve never needed you more, Maz.”

The monk’s heart oozed at that. He padded up to Link, reassuring him softly, “Well, there's no reason to fret just yet. We still have a lot of work to do, so you’re stuck with this old Sheikah for a while.” He reached out, collecting Link in a side-hug, garnering a smile from him. The monk continued, “Until then, I will continue to train you. That’s what I have waited all these years for. I won’t be denied that, I’ll tell you that much.”

Link looked upon the sand, ghosts of their training flitting through his mind. He couldn’t help but feel a tad disappointed that they were stopping for the moment. “Can we do this again tomorrow, Maz?” Link wondered, glancing up to him.

Maz Koshia nodded. “Definitely. This wasn’t our only training session. Far from it. I plan on doing more until I deem you ready. Now, come on, let’s be off. I want you rested for tomorrow,” he finished, gesturing to the Master Cycle.

Link stared at it for a moment. His gaze then wandered from the disc in his hand to the vehicle itself. “Can I drive?” he asked with a grin.

Maz Koshia smiled, stepping aside. “It’s all yours, hero.”

The ride back up to the lab was pleasant. Link found that driving the Master Cycle came naturally to him, though the monk still cautioned him to take turns slowly. He ripped up the mountainside wearing a broad smile, eager to resume his training with Maz Koshia while he still had him.

But midway through the trip, Link’s stomach turned as he thought ahead. Now that they were returning the lab, he would no-doubt have to confront the spirit in the Slate. He wasn’t entirely eager to reunite with it after his discussion with Maz Koshia, but if he had the monk by his side, he felt he could handle it. As they reached the top, Link took a deep breath, ready to scoop up the Slate and face it.

But when they pulled to a stop in the courtyard at the top of the cliff, an unsettling sight greeted them. It was pindrop quiet, no signs of the Purah or Symin. The Sheikah Slate was gone. A trail of blackened grass stretched from where it had fallen, curling off to the entrance of the lab. One of the doors was ajar, hanging off its last hinge, a dim red light emanating from within.

Link’s blood shot with ice. He stopped dead, exchanging a split-second glance with Maz Koshia.

“Something’s wrong,” the monk breathed. They didn’t waste another moment — they abandoned the Master Cycle and stormed into the lab, calling out for Symin and Purah.

They found the lab in chaos. Several shelves had been smashed, spilling an ocean of documents onto the floor. One of the chairs lay in pieces against a cracked wall. They discovered Purah and Symin huddled together in the far corner, shivering so violently the chopsticks in their hair rattled. Symin’s ankle flared with an angry crimson burn, his pant leg singed, a bruise on his forehead. Purah’s eyes were bloodshot as she stared, unblinking, at something over Link and Maz Koshia’s shoulders.

Link’s eyes widened at the state of the place. He was about to ask them what in the world had happened when something stole his attention from them. There, on the central table, lay the Sheikah Slate. It was the source of the red light filling the room. Link broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of it. He and Maz Koshia exchanged a quick glance before they carefully shuffled forward. When they approached, the Slate gave off a harsh chirp, startling them. Its eye bored into them, burning with a crazed fire.

A single sentence appeared on its screen.

_Where have you been?_

A chill tore through Link. He knew it was talking to him. He felt a weight plunge onto his shoulders, sinking him into his boots. “T-training. With Maz,” he replied, his voice weak.

The Slate physically shivered, rattling upon the table. Its lights glared. In the corner, Purah whimpered, cowering into Symin’s shoulder.

_Without me?_ the spirit snarled.

Everyone jumped out of their skins when the front door slammed shut. Link and Maz Koshia whirled around. They both turned to stone when they found someone barring the exit.

The figure was broad-shouldered and colossal, standing eye-level with Maz Koshia _._ His strong, toned body was comprised entirely of thick black shadow, and adorned with scraps of what looked like Guardian armor, each piece smoldering with crimson light. A set of peculiar shackles were clamped around the apparition’s wrists, ankles, and neck; the shackles were of Sheikah design, but none of the Sheikah in the room had ever seen anything like them. They were made of the same dark stone as the Sheikah Slate, connected by long chains of pinkish light.

The figure kept his head bowed, glaring into the floor. He trembled, shedding darkness, his breath shuddering with his wrath. When he finally spoke out loud, Link lost strength in his knees, stumbling into the table. He knew that voice. It was cold, dark, and deep — it sent a shiver into their necks as though the spirit were running the edge of a knife down their skins.

“After everything I’ve done for you… everything I’ve sacrificed… and this is how you repay me, _Master?”_ he spat. “By running off with a monk?” He raised his head, his raw betrayal almost palpable in the suffocating air.

Link’s blood soured when his gaze met the figure’s face. No, not a face — a horrific visage that had replaced whatever face he once had. While the figure bore a shaggy mess of shocking red hair and pointed ears, he had no other distinguishing features, lacking a nose, a mouth, a forehead. His face had been completely shorn off, leaving nothing but an exposed lower jaw bone lined with razor-sharp incisors.

But he did have an eye. Just one. It was a stone effigy of the eye of the Sheikah hovering in the cavity of his face. He turned it on them, aglow with toxic crimson light.

“You ungrateful little WRETCH!” the spirit roared.

And then he charged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, what a chapter! This one was a total joy to put together. So many twists and turns! I especially loved the flashback scene. It made me feel things. Argh, I hope you liked it as much as I liked penning it. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve written for this piece so far.
> 
> As for our new arrival… has anybody figured out his identity? I kept who he was a secret for a while, but dropped HUGE hints (if not a reveal) here. Don't worry, we will be learning his name next chapter. If you haven't figured it out. :) Hope he was everything you were hoping for. I had a bit too much fun designing him and getting into his character. He’s a strong personality, both in terms of who he is and how he can throw his weight around. He’ll play a vital role in the story. Stay tuned for more from our new friend! What could he be waiting for, I wonder…?
> 
> All in all, this one was big. But next chapter will be even bigger, so hold onto your hats. I mean it. Things start getting real, here. Let me know any predictions, concerns, or ideas you might have! I’d love to hear from you.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for coming back for another chapter of Corrupted Hero. I’ll see you in the next one. I’m not gonna lie. I think it’ll knock your socks off. See you then!


	20. Unmasked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to chapter 20 of Corrupted Hero! I know I always say this, but I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I think this chapter is going to be worth it, though. Here, we will get some long-awaited answers, as well as a few more revelations. I can't wait for you to read on!  
> Business-wise, I've come to realize that my schedule for this story will most likely be monthly or bi-monthly (depending on my workload). That seems to be the only way I can faithfully update. I'd love to do these bi-weekly, but with how complicated these are getting, I know I would run out of steam pretty quickly. That said, I look forward to seeing you every month. :) Stay tuned for more!
> 
> And before I go, I wanted to let you know that I've sprinkled some references to other Zelda games in this chapter. Can you spot them?
> 
> As always, I wanted to express my heartfelt thanks for your audience. Thank you for reading, commenting, supporting me, and brainstorming with me. I love each and every one of you and I am so excited to go on this journey with you. Read, and enjoy!

The spirit surged straight for Link, his breakneck speed kicking up the papers littering the floor. Despite his bulky frame, the spirit could levitate on a whim; his toes skimmed the floorboards as he shot across the lab in a second flat, his eye ablaze, chains swinging, a savage warcry ripping from his throat.

Link’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He knew he had to move, but he never got the chance to. The spirit stormed up to greet him, towering over him in the crimson half-light. Without an ounce of mercy for his master, the spirit thrust his fist into Link’s third eye with a nauseating _crunch._ Link’s head snapped back, his neck grinding. The sheer force of the spirit’s blow knocked him on his back onto the table. Link cried out against a jolt of pain spearing his skull, clutching his forehead as blood leaked out of his eye.

Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin recoiled. The spirit moved with the speed and ferocity of a lightning strike. They had never seen anything like it. Disturbed as he was, a shock of adrenaline spurred Maz Koshia into action upon seeing the blood leaking between Link’s fingers — at finally seeing the monstrosity responsible. The monk’s teeth ground. He had to deal with this _thing_ plaguing the Sheikah Slate, once and for all. It had long overstayed its welcome.

Veil igniting, the monk summoned a sword and dove for the spirit. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” he shouted.

The spirit’s head whipped toward Maz Koshia. His eye blared with stark yellow light. “I don’t take orders from you!” he snarled.

As Maz Koshia swung at him, the spirit extended his palm. At the spirit’s command, the monk was consumed by a golden light mid-lunge, his body completely locking up without his control. The spirit didn’t even flinch as the monk’s sword hovered mere inches from his pupil.

Link gaped, blinking gore out of his eyes. Purah and Symin choked. They had seen this before. The spirit was using the Sheikah Slate’s Runes.

“Holy crap…!” Purah breathed.

With a spurt of laughter, the spirit reared back and plunged his foot into Maz Koshia’s sternum. The monk should have been sent flying, but, strangely, he didn’t move. At all. The spirit had suspended him in time. Everyone jumped when the light coating Maz Koshia flashed as massive kinetic energy built up against his body, raring to be released.

Purah and Symin knew what the spirit had done to the monk — it was nothing short of harrowing. Link, however, was woefully ignorant. He had no idea what was happening. His jaw dropped, his heart fluttering as he stared at Maz Koshia, totally immobilized.

“Maz?!” Link gasped. He sat up, scrambling to the monk’s aid, only to freeze in his tracks when the spirit’s hand clamped around his neck.

The spirit pinned Link to the table, his eye rolling. “Maz, Maz, Maz,” he scoffed. “God, you don’t know how sick and tired I am of hearing his name! You just love your little monk _so much,_ don’t you?” His eye shimmered with betrayal. Fuming, the spirit pounded Link against the table, his voice breaking as he cried, “ _Don’t you?!_ You left me behind — for _him?!_ For that crusty old bastard?!”

Link’s blood shot with hot revile at the spirit’s words, his eyes flashing. Fighting the spirit’s grip, he cried, “Don’t you dare talk about him like that! What did you do to him?!” But the spirit merely glowered into him. Link’s brow twisted. He clawed at the spirit’s arm, spitting, “If you hurt him I swear I’ll — !”

Unphased by Link’s protests, the spirit forced him down and dug his thumb into his throat, silencing him. The spirit shuddered, leaning in closer to Link. “What I did to him is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you,” he growled. “Oh, but don’t worry, Master. I won’t kill you. He’d have my head for that. Besides,” he mused, tracing his eye along Link’s bone mask. “I’d hate to waste such a handsome face.”

Something foul stirred inside Link at the spirit’s smug threats. Teeth baring, he struggled, kicking with all his might at the spirit’s torso in efforts to shake him off. But the spirit held him fast, his armor taking the brunt of Link’s blows — he only succeeded in humoring the apparition.

“Ooh, that tickles,” the spirit crooned.

Link’s stomach dropped as the spirit proceeded to haul him above his head like he was nothing. Link gurgled and thrashed, dangling at his mercy. Whirling on his heel, the spirit pitched Link into the floor as easily as if he were a ball. Link cracked the back of his head against the edge of the raised stage, blacking out for a moment. When he came to, he found the spirit’s burning gaze locked onto him, his voice muffled against the ringing in his ears.

“What did your precious monk say about me, Master?” the spirit began. “What lies did he fill your head with? Did he tell you I’m no good for you? That you shouldn’t trust me?” His fists rolled, his eye smoldering. “...That you don’t need me? That’s rich. Y’know, for all his _wisdom,_ that monk’s about as ignorant as he is ancient!” He laid a hand on his chest, urging Link, “Don’t let him deceive you, Master. You need me more than you realize.”

Link’s insides squirmed at the spirit’s words. He grimaced, his blood flushing with panic for some reason. He shook his head wildly. “No! No, I’m not listening to you!” he cried, shambling away on his elbows. “Get away from me!”

The spirit took his chin back, stunned by his master’s response. With a snarl, he stomped toward Link, shaking his head. “I won’t let him do this, Master,” he promised. “I won’t let him come between us. You need me. And I’m going to prove it to you.”

Link scrambled back as fast as his swimming head would allow, his chest tight with fear as the spirit came at him. He was nothing short of a nightmare, with his crazed, blood-red eye and sharpened fangs, his dark, powerful frame, the chains whipping from his shackles. Link shuddered to comprehend that he had been carrying this thing with him since he had risen — that he had been _inside his mind,_ whispering to him _._ It made his blood curdle.

And he was defenseless in the spirit’s shadow. How was he going to stand up to this thing? The spirit completely dwarfed him in size, and his strength and armor were formidable enough even without the Runes at his disposal.

Link had his Malice, sure, but he could barely focus, let alone coax his Malice out on a whim. His past uses of it were flukes, he knew that. He’d only deliberately brought it out when facing the Guardian earlier — with the spirit’s help. But the spirit was beyond cooperation by that point. What could Link do to bring his Malice out now? He had no idea. He couldn’t even think.

But as he retreated, he suddenly remembered the sword Maz Koshia had given him to train with. It was still on his belt. It was all he had.

Link reached for the ancient sword, but his reflexes were sluggish. The spirit’s eye immediately flew to the weapon, blazing with shock. Before Link could take it off his belt, the spirit caught up to him and stomped on his fingers. Link’s subsequent yelp was cut short when the spirit slammed his foot onto his chest. Link’s lungs heaved, his breath wheezing out of him. His hand flew to the spirit’s ankle as he pressed his weight against him. Despite being a spirit, he was solid as stone; Link’s sternum creaked beneath his weight.

“What exactly were you planning on doing?” the spirit gawked. “I don’t believe this! How did he manage to corrupt you so badly?!” Exasperated, he threw his hands up, shouting, “You know what?! Fine! Have it your way! Listen to your monk. Eat up every little thing he says — he’s a _genius._ Ignore me, attack me, leave me behind, why don’t you? After all, what have _I_ ever done for _YOU?!”_

The spirit pounded his heel into Link’s third eye, dashing his head against the floor. Darkness spotted Link’s vision, his hearing dipping out. The spirit barely gave Link time to recover before he continued his beatings, screaming, “All I ever did, I did for YOU!” He kicked Link’s eye in again _,_ his scalp splitting against the floor. Blood trickled down Link’s neck.

But the spirit didn't care. He had to show him the error in his ways. He continued, wailing, “I guided you! I comforted you! I inspired you! The least you could do is show a little GRATITUDE! God, what do I have to do to get it through your THICK SKULL?!”

The spirit drove his foot again and again into Link’s third eye till his face and his hair were sopping with blood. Link’s brain sloshed in his skull. He saw double. A raspy groan slithered out of him as he lay limp on the floor, his head lolling.

Pausing his rampage, the spirit loomed above Link for a moment, breathing heavily. But upon beholding his bloodied master beneath his feet, the spirit eventually sighed. Stepping off of Link, he knelt, gently taking him by the jaw, locking their gazes. Link braced for another round, but to his shock, the spirit’s explosive emotional state completely turned on a dime. He became submissive, doting. Apologetic, even.

He implored Link, his voice heavy with regret, “I take no pride in this, Master. I live to serve you. You just don’t understand that yet. But you will.” He brushed his thumb along Link’s jawline, continuing, “Know that I’m doing this for you, Master. You rescued me from the depths of my despair — and for that, I _worship you.”_

Link’s battered face twisted. “You…” he grunted, blood bubbling on his lips. “...h-have a funny way of showing it.”

The spirit’s fangs glinted with a smile. “You’ll see things my way.” He tapped his finger on the tip of Link’s nose, cooing, “Soon.”

Link flinched at his touch. “Go to hell,” he hissed.

The spirit stiffened, but ultimately shrugged it off. “Been there, done that,” he replied. He then brought his hands up, cupping Link’s head and drilling his thumbnails into his third eye. Link’s body tensed; he gave a guttural cry as sharp pain spliced through his face.

“But if you don’t cooperate with me… if you dare cast me aside again...” the spirit warned. “Then I will show you firsthand the torture I have endured. I’ll make you wish you had _never_ reincarnated, _Link.”_

A cold shudder crawled down Link’s neck at the familiar way in which the spirit said his name — like he had whispered it thousands of times. But even if his brain hadn’t been beaten to pulp, Link couldn’t fathom what the spirit was talking about. Reincarnation? His torture? Nothing he was saying made sense. All Link could give in response was a gritty grunt.

Satisfied, the spirit released his grip on Link, letting him flop to the floorboards. He laid there, gasping through bloody, bared teeth against the throbbing of his head and his churning stomach.

Link swallowed the bitter blood and bile pooling in his mouth. “You’re a monster,” he breathed.

The spirit chuckled, flattered. “And unlike you, I embrace it.” Reaching up, he began to clean blood off of Link’s bone mask. Link slapped his hand away, but the spirit snatched him by the wrist, continuing, “But we’ll work on that. We are bound together, Master.” He then laid his hand over Link’s heart, stamping a bloody handprint on his tunic. Something inside Link writhed at his touch.

The spirit’s eye flashed in-sync with Link’s pulse. “Bound until the very end,” he murmured.

The lab fell quiet for a brief moment when, by the table, time finally caught up with Maz Koshia. Everyone jumped against an awful chorus of sounds that raked at the air as the light consuming the monk’s body dispelled. Time shifted back into place with a temporal shatter. Several of Maz Koshia’s ribs spontaneously snapped, his breath punching out of his lungs. The monk was flung across the room and into a bookshelf against the wall with a mighty crash.

Through his delirium, Link’s attention was wrenched to where Maz Koshia had fallen. Half-buried in books and shelf fragments, the monk broke into a coughing fit, clawing for air.

Link’s heavy eyelids fluttered, his breath catching. “Maz!” he shouted.

The monk’s head shot up. Settling his lungs, he blinked back into lucidity, his gaze flying to Link. He recoiled at the gore slathering Link’s face, at the spirit crouched above him. While suspended in time, the monk’s senses had been temporarily stifled; he hadn’t seen or heard anything of Link and the spirit’s exchange.

Maz Koshia’s brows knit together. “Get away from him…!” he said, his voice rough. He attempted to get to his feet, only for his lungs to wither. Grunting, he sank to the floor, his hand flying to his chest; his ribs were buckled and uneven, his breath little more than a wheeze.

Link’s stomach flushed with panic. He tried again to rise to help the monk, but the spirit held him down. The spirit jerked his head toward Maz Koshia. With a baffled chuckle, he shook his head, reeling with envy.

“I honestly don’t comprehend what you see in him,” he marveled to Link. “I’ve done more for you than he could ever dream of!”

Link writhed, spitting, “I don’t care! Let me go!”

The spirit’s eye flashed. He seized a handful of Link’s hair and gave him a violent shake, warning, “I’d watch your tone, Master. I’m the reason you even have breath in your lungs to say such things.”

Link blinked, the spirit’s words catching him off-guard. “W-what?!” he gasped.

“Spirit!” Maz Koshia shouted. Their heads flew toward him. He had hauled himself to his feet, leaning against a nearby desk for support. Catching his breath, he aimed his sword at the spirit. “You heard him — let him go. I am the object of your wrath. Not Link. You and I both know that.”

The spirit paused before giving a snort. “And here I thought we’d never agree on anything.” Turning his head, he glowered into the blood dripping down Link’s face, his voice oozing with hatred as he accused, “Look what you’ve done, monk. This is all your fault. It didn’t have to come to this.”

The monk’s lip curled. “Funny, I was about to say the same. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you.”

The spirit whirled on him. “I was here first! Things were perfect until you came along.” He aimed a finger at Maz Koshia. “You…! You’ve been leading my master away from me ever since.” With a manic chuckle, the spirit rambled on, “I knew this would happen — do you think I’m stupid?! I’ve been watching you. All of you! You’re plotting against me. Against _us._ And I won’t stand for it.”

“Let him go,” the monk ordered, taking a few steps forward. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Why, so you can take him for yourself? I don’t think so,” the spirit replied. He pulled Link up and admired him, adding, “I sacrificed everything for him. I will _never_ let him go. He’s _mine.”_

Maz Koshia’s face twisted with revulsion at the spirit’s obsession for Link. It was as if the spirit’s entire existence revolved around him. The monk knew he had to separate them. Only it wouldn’t be as easy as throwing aside the Sheikah Slate this time.

But something the spirit said nagged at him. Sacrifice. Maz Koshia’s eyes tightened as he inspected the spirit. “And what exactly have you sacrificed, pray tell?” he asked. “You seem to be lacking a few things — namely sanity.”

The spirit’s eye glazed over as he gazed upon Link. He barely registered the monk’s insult. “I gave him everything,” he whispered. “My freedom. My identity. My _soul._ Everything… for him.”

Both Link and Maz Koshia shuddered at that.

“And yet…” The spirit trailed off, his fingers curling into fists. He still had one hand tangled in Link’s hair. Link winced, clutching his scalp. “...He chose _you,”_ the spirit breathed. His voice took on a feral edge when he asked, “Why? What have you done for him that I haven’t?!”

“I’m not beating him into the floorboards,” Maz Koshia groused.

“Oh, but you certainly did your fair share back in the Shrine, didn’t you?!” the spirit snarled, twisting to face the monk. Maz Koshia took his chin back, gripping his sword tighter. Eye alight, the spirit continued, “You know _exactly_ what you did — when your beloved Shrine was ruined, who did you blame?! Who did you lay your hands on?!” He bashed Link’s head against the floor, screaming, “WHO WAS IT, MAZ KOSHIA?!”

The eye on the monk’s veil caught fire. With a roar, he stomped his foot, stabbing his sword toward the spirit. “THAT’S ENOUGH! I’m going to lay my hands on YOU if you don’t SHUT UP and BACK OFF! LET HIM GO, NOW!”

Maz Koshia’s voice shook the walls, chilling everyone’s spines — including the spirit’s. But that didn’t stop him from standing up to the monk. If anything, the monk’s raised voice only whet his appetite.

Releasing Link, the spirit grinned and jumped to his feet, shaking with anticipation. “Ooh, I’m _dying_ to see this!” he challenged. “You wanna go at it, old man? Huh? Do you?!”

Grinding his jaw, Maz Koshia brandished his sword, inviting, “Do your worst.”

With an unhinged cackle, the spirit threw himself at Maz Koshia. The monk backed up, sword at the ready, as the spirit proceeded to summon a weapon of his own. It was a long spear, crowned with a trio of steel blades, a chunk of amber inlaid into its shaft. As the spirit thrust it toward him, Maz Koshia brought up his sword to catch it, taking in the weapon with a notion of recollection. He had seen this spear somewhere before.

But he couldn’t pause to think it over. Not with the spirit advancing on him. The two traded blows, clanging their weapons against the other, skirting about the lab. The spirit’s attacks were frenzied, yet methodical — he specifically aimed for Maz Koshia’s ribcage, his neck. He remembered the monk’s weaknesses, watching them come to light through the Sheikah Slate. With the monk consuming his attention, the spirit’s own rage manipulated the Malice coating his throat. Maz Koshia could feel it slithering inside him.

As they struggled, Maz Koshia endeavored to keep his feet and his breath steady. He still walked with some difficulty, his lungs straining against his newly-broken ribs, all while the poison in his throat thickened. But the more the monk dodged and blocked the spirit’s attacks and swung his sword, the more his chest began to twinge with pain that spread into his shoulder. Before long, he was wheezing, his movements slowing down. The spirit noticed this with delight; his strength and stamina were fueled solely by his all-consuming envy.

Behind them, Link shot upright, his body rattling. He knew what was happening, but he could scarcely see exactly what was going on. His blurry vision shook with every forehead-splitting pound of his head. In spite of the beating he had taken, he tried to get to his feet to help Maz Koshia.

But he collapsed. His head rushed, his stomach wringing out. Link heaved, but somehow managing to hold down the bile burning in his gut. As Maz Koshia and the spirit dueled, Purah and Symin seized their chance to rendezvous with Link. They crawled from the far corner and under the table to him. Symin grabbed him by the shoulder. Link, half-registering they were even there, tried to stand again, but Symin tugged him back down.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Symin began. “You’re a mess, Link, you can’t — ”

Link shook his head, interrupting him. “N-no, no, we have to help!”

“What are _we_ gonna do?!” Purah panicked. “We can’t fight that thing!”

“We have to,” Link repeated, his vision swimming with the red smudge of the spirit’s hair as it danced around the blue blur of Maz Koshia’s sword. “We have to — ”

But a sudden spurt of wet coughing cut him off. Their gazes flew to Maz Koshia as he staggered, one hand grasping his throat, while the other flailed his sword to defend himself. He hit the wall, his body shuddering from his heavy coughs. Glowing droplets of Malice sprayed out of his mouth. Link, Symin, and Purah gasped.

The spirit leaned back, lapping up the sight of the monk struggling to breathe. “Aww, Maz, you don’t look so good,” he cooed. “I’ve got just the thing for that!”

He darted forward, their weapons locking. Snickering, he jabbed his knee into Maz Koshia’s ribcage. His bones gritted together, Malice spurting from his mouth. As the monk doubled over, the spirit grabbed him by the neck and broke into a run, dragging him along the wall before throwing him into a cabinet. The cabinet rocked dangerously above Maz Koshia. He wilted to the floor, gagging on the Malice clogging his throat.

“No!” Link cried, scrambling to his hands and knees.

But he stopped dead, mystified by the spirit as he levitated back to the opposite wall, his eye ablaze with bloodlust. He gripped his spear with both hands, focusing his energy. The semi-darkness of the lab scattered as a scintillating golden light gathered around the tip of the spirit’s spear. The light sparked and crackled, superheating the air around it. Flourishing his weapon, the spirit lobbed the light at Maz Koshia.

“MAZ, LOOK OUT!” Link screamed.

The monk’s head snapped up. Suppressing a cough, he swung his sword against the oncoming ball of light, deflecting it toward the spirit. The spirit couldn’t help but grin as the light sailed toward him. He had forgotten what this felt like. Hungry for more, the spirit advanced on Maz Koshia, rebounding the light back to him. Maz Koshia returned it. Back and forth they went, exchanging the ball of light in a game of Dead Man’s Volley.

With each trade, however, the spirit gained ground on Maz Koshia, their volleys growing faster and faster. Every swing was torture on Maz Koshia’s crushed ribcage. He struggled to keep up. His injuries and the Malice in his throat were wearing him down. Even through his blurred vision, Link knew the monk was faltering.

He had to do something. Link hobbled to his feet despite Symin’s objections and sprinted headlong toward the spirit, tackling his legs from behind. The spirit crashed to his hands and knees. He growled at his master’s interference; he tried to shake Link off, but Link held on. When Maz Koshia returned his volley, the spirit was too preoccupied with Link to deflect it. He turned his head just in time for the light to careen straight into his face.

Jolts of scalding energy tore through the spirit’s body — he spasmed, giving a grunt and crumbling to the floor. Pulling back, Link and Maz Koshia watched him twitch, amazed. For a moment, it seemed as though they had bested him. But their victory was short-lived. The spirit suddenly raised his head, soldiering through the pain. He was no stranger to it.

He chuckled. “Cute, boys, but unoriginal. You’re gonna have to try harder than that!”

Shooting back into action, the spirit pivoted, launching his elbow into Link’s forehead. Link keeled back, hitting the floor in a heap. Gasping, Maz Koshia staggered to his feet, sword drawn. But the spirit was faster. He rose from the floor and kicked Link across the lab, sending him tumbling into the table. The Sheikah Slate clattered to the floor, catching Purah’s eye.

Link, stunned and disoriented where he lay, had no chance of evading what was coming. The spirit stormed forward and drove his spear into Link’s knee and twisted it, slicing clean through tendon and bone. Link convulsed, his spine arching — a bloody howl tore out of him, ravaging his throat raw.

“You brought this on yourself, Master,” the spirit mourned.

Maz Koshia’s lungs pulverized with horror. He hastened his shamble toward the spirit, teeth bared, intent on ripping him apart. As the spirit shook his head, irritated by Link’s actions, Maz Koshia came up behind him and shoved him over, plunging his sword between the gaps of his armor on his back, impaling him. The monk channeled all his energy into the blade, overloading it with a surge of electricity that boiled the spirit’s shadowy body into soup. Pieces of his armor flung off of him like shrapnel. Symin threw himself in front of Purah, shielding her.

The spirit stumbled forward, energy ravaging his body, making him seize. Maz Koshia pushed the sword in deeper and staggered a few steps back. His strength was exhausted. He sunk to his knees, breathing heavily, his gaze flicking to Link where he lay, hot tears streaming down his face. It made his jaw grind.

The monk turned his attention back to the spirit. He watched as the spirit hovered his shaking hands around the Sheikah blade protruding out of his chest. Gruesome as the wound was, a sudden smile caught his jaw. Grimacing slightly, he grabbed the sword by its blade and yanked it through his body, taking it for himself. Ignoring the sizzling of his hand, the spirit took the sword by the hilt and turned to face Maz Koshia. The monk froze, his eyes widening as he watched the spirit’s wound glow with magenta light and seal up.

No one but Purah noticed the Sheikah Slate light up in tandem with the spirit’s wound as it healed.

Maz Koshia swallowed a lump of Malice in his throat. “That’s interesting…” he murmured.

The spirit sneered. “Like my little party trick? I could do this all night,” he replied. Cocking his head, he continued, “Gotta hand it to you — you’re tougher than I give you credit for. But you’re looking tired, Maz. Allow me to put you to bed...” He prowled toward Maz Koshia, his sword aimed at his forehead.

Maz Koshia eased himself to his feet, ready to go another round. But as he made motions to summon another weapon, the spirit’s eye flashed a vibrant shade of magenta, cutting off his efforts. The monk gave a sudden retch, his hands flying to his throat. He tore off his veil as a flood of Malice gushed out of his mouth and nose, sending him to his knees.

Oblivious to what was happening, Link pinched his eyes shut as he writhed on the floor, one hand gripping his blood-soaked knee. Purah and Symin, meanwhile, had their eyes riveted to the scene before them. They’d watched the spirit’s wound heal with disturbed awe. But as she beheld it, a thought dawned on Purah. Her eyes flew from the spirit’s nonexistent wound to the Sheikah Slate, her thoughts connecting.

The spirit held his blade inches from Maz Koshia’s forehead. “You have been a thorn in my side for far too long, monk,” the spirit growled. “I rue the day we met. And I am going to _relish_ the day you finally die.”

Gaining some control over himself, Maz Koshia spit at the spirit’s feet, giving a rough chuckle. “And every time you think of me,” he breathed, “you will remember me as I was...” He raised his head, jeering, “...your Master’s favorite.”

The spirit seethed at that, gripping his sword tighter. He would enjoy this. “Goodbye, Maz Koshia,” he grinned.

Looking on with panic, Purah flew into action. She grabbed the Sheikah Slate and crawled over to Link, shaking him. He turned to her, his face twisted with agony.

“The Slate, Link!” Purah hissed into his ear. She thrust the device into his hand. “He’s connected to it! Do something! Anything!”

Link’s gaze rested on the device for a moment before flying to the spirit as he reared his sword back. An idea pierced the haze in Link’s mind. He snatched the sword off his belt and energized it, sitting bolt upright.

“HEY!” Link shouted.

The spirit paused mid-swing, lured by his master’s voice. He twisted his head in Link’s direction, stopping cold when he saw Link’s blade hovering above the Sheikah Slate. Both Maz Koshia and the spirit gave a start.

The spirit threw his hand out. “DON’T — !”

Link plunged his sword into the Sheikah Slate’s screen. The plasma blade pierced it as easily as if it were paper. Sparks and Malice jetted out of it like a fountain, an ear-splitting shriek rending the air — everyone’s hands clamped around their ears.

Both Link and the spirit recoiled as if they had been stabbed in the gut. The spirit’s eye fractured — he gave a strangled scream, his hands flying to what remained of his face. Dropping his weapon, he crumbled to his knees, doubling over and clutching his eye. Malice spilled through his fingers. As he twitched on the floor, the spirit dragged his head up, gaping at the Sheikah Slate. Its lights stuttered, dousing them all in darkness for a moment — the spirit’s body faded into nothing for a split second.

He sucked in a gasp. “W-what have you done?!” the spirit gawked. “ _What have you done?!”_

No one answered him. All they could do was stare at him, speechless. After absolutely terrorizing everyone in the room, it was astonishing seeing the spirit reduced to nothing so suddenly. One moment, he had been an unstoppable force of revenge and destruction. But not then. Now, he was wounded. Weakened. All because Link had damaged the Sheikah Slate, severing his connection to it. As if on cue, the glowing chains joining the spirit’s shackles flickered and dissolved into the shadows, making him whimper.

“M-my… tether…!” he cried, dragging himself toward the Sheikah Slate. But he didn’t make it far before his body flickered again, sending him to the floor.

The lab fell quiet for a moment, the only sound the spirit’s panicked breath. Now that they weren’t at war with each other, Maz Koshia drank in the spirit as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes devoured every detail, cementing him in his mind. His gaze trailed from the spirit’s shuddering frame and to his spear jutting out of Link’s knee. Maz Koshia’s eyes widened, his mind beginning to race.

The spirit’s vaguely-familiar weapon, his shattered psyche, his red hair, his battle style, his obsessive loyalty... The monk abruptly realized that he _knew_ him. He had seen him before, somewhere in the visions of the past the Goddess had blessed him with. But he hadn’t recognized him until that moment. He was… different. Time and torture had not been kind to this spirit. He was a broken shell of his former self.

But why was he here, within the Slate? Why did he look like this? What happened to his face —

Maz Koshia’s eyes had wandered from the spirit, resting on Link. A horrific realization struck him. His breath rushed out of his lungs; his hand flew to cover his mouth, his mind reeling.

He breathed, inspecting the spirit, “It’s you…!”

There was a brief pause before Symin asked, “What?”

Gathering his thoughts, Maz Koshia continued to the spirit, his breath shallow, “I know you…”

The spirit shuddered, his eye glued to the floor. “You don’t know me,” he grumbled.

“I-I do… I know you...” Maz Koshia repeated, straightening. He held his chest, his lungs aching. Cocking his head, he continued, getting to his feet, “I know all about you…” The monk looked between the Sheikah Slate and the spirit. A smirk crept onto his lips. He snorted. “For all your tough talk, spirit…” he said. “You’re still worthless.”

The spirit’s body locked up. “...What did you say?” he gasped.

“You heard me. You’re _worthless,”_ the monk spat.

The spirit recoiled as if he’d been kicked. “Sh-shut up, Maz,” he grunted, his breath shaky.

Maz Koshia’s eyes flashed. He had struck a nerve. “No. No, I don’t think I will,” he replied. “You are _worthless,_ aren’t you?” The spirit cringed again. Spurred by his reaction, Maz Koshia went on, raw enmity dripping from every word, “Without the Slate, you’re _worthless._ Without Link, you’re _worthless._ You need them. Desperately. You depend on them because you’re too weak to stand on your own two feet and you know it. You — are — worthless.”

The spirit slammed his fists against the floor. “Stop calling me that!” he hissed.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Maz Koshia fired back. “It was the name your creator gave you before he banished you. All because you couldn’t kill a hero adrift in time…” He shook his head. “You’re pathetic. You’re worthless.” The monk padded forward, prodding, “Isn’t that right, Phantom Ganon?”

The spirit twitched, his body flickering again. Stiff silence settled upon the lab for a moment before he ultimately chuckled, his voice hoarse, “...Am I that transparent?”

Link, Purah, and Symin all gaped at the spirit — at how exposed he suddenly was. The monk had stunned them with his revelations. Link’s blood chilled upon finally learning the apparition’s name. Phantom Ganon. It wasn’t a familiar name, but one that nevertheless slithered down his neck like a snake.

Maz Koshia continued to muse aloud, “You had me for a while, I’ll admit. You kept your identity well hidden.” He held his forehead, marveling, “How did I not see this before…? You aren’t the same ghost I’ve seen in my visions. You’ve changed.”

“At least I’m not a shriveled old corpse,” Phantom Ganon mocked.

Maz Koshia pursed his lips, ignoring his insult. “No, but you’re deformed. Deranged. What’s happened to you?”

“Aww, suddenly so concerned for my welfare? Aren’t you sweet,” Phantom Ganon sneered. He dragged his head toward Maz Koshia, growling, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Maz Koshia went stiff for a moment, his breath rattling as he took in the shredded remains of the spirit’s face. Hanging his head, he brought his gaze over to Link, his expression sombering. “Tell me, Phantom,” he breathed. “...Why is Link wearing your face?”

The room fell morbidly quiet. The heavy air seemed to sour. Link’s heart gave a resounding _thud_ at Maz Koshia’s words. He was too consumed by his own existential horror to notice Purah and Symin give him grim, wide-eyed stares. He could suddenly feel the bone mask encircling his face — like it didn’t belong there.

Link unconsciously brought up a shaking hand, his fingertips caressing the teeth lining his mask. His gaze then fell on Phantom Ganon’s bony, fang-laced jaw. In the heat of the spirit’s attack, Link hadn't had time to fully internalize it, but now that he was looking at it, he realized that his mask and the spirit’s jaw were two parts of one whole.

The spirit’s missing face...?

Phantom Ganon grinned. “I gave it to him,” he whispered. Everyone stiffened. “My own personal touch to this… happy accident. Out of all of His fallen, I was chosen to assist him.” He looked up to Link, making him recoil. “But if I was to accompany him, I refused to look at his old face.” He scowled. “Reminds me too much of someone I used to know.”

“Your face?!” Link finally croaked, eyes widening. He gestured to his bone mask. “This is _your face?!”_

Phantom Ganon tilted his head, purring, “Like it, don’t you?”

Link’s heart stopped. His horror melted away as fast as it came on; his brows shot together, his breath blasting out of his mouth in a black cloud at the disgusting truth behind his new, darkened form. Link’s mind bled with the terror he had stricken into the people he had met, the fearful treatment he had received. The self-hatred he had wallowed in.

Indeed, the vast majority of his demonization had been solely because of his face. A face that wasn’t even his to begin with. One that he had loathed since the moment he laid his three glowing eyes on it in the ruined church. One that had been so charitably _given_ to him by this spirit.

Link’s torrent of emotions finally came to an ugly head. “YOU DID THIS TO ME!” Link roared, much to the thrill of Phantom Ganon. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Phantom Ganon beamed with pride as he watched Link’s shock fester, mutating into an unholy outrage. It surged into his blood like a flood of acid. Link didn’t fight it when his Malice roiled to a fever pitch within him; it bulldozed through his body before bursting out of his shoulders and spreading along his arms.

Link tried to leap up to tackle Phantom Ganon and beat him into oblivion. But in his blind frenzy, he completely forgot about the spear impaling his leg. Link’s knee split open with his movements, paralyzing pain shocking through his body. Not even the adrenaline pumping through his veins could mask it. He slumped to the floor, crying out and gripping his gushing, shredded knee. Purah and Symin flew to help, but they hesitated to touch him, wary of his Malice.

Phantom Ganon snickered at his master’s efforts. Maz Koshia shot him a disturbed glance before he looked to Link, entreating him, “Stay down, Link. He’s finished.” The monk snarled at Phantom Ganon, jabbing a finger at him, “You — we don’t need you. _Link_ doesn’t need you. Leave us, _now_ — crawl back to the gap between dimensions where you belong.”

Phantom Ganon’s hands curled into fists. “...Is that what you think?” he chuckled. “That I’m finished? You’re wrong. My place is here… with my Master…”

He looked to Link, urging him, “I already told you: I live to serve you, and I always will. I’ve sacrificed everything for you. My life. My face. My _everything.”_ He shakily hauled himself to his hands and knees. “We need each other; our existences are fragile. We both need someone — some _thing_ — to cling to, or we won’t survive.” His eye flashed in-sync with Link’s pulse again. Link’s heart fluttered. Sweat crawled down his neck.

Phantom Ganon continued, “We provide for each other. So long as you have breath in your lungs and blood in your veins, I will be nourished, and in turn, I will continue to feed you the life you lost.” He shrugged. “Time to face facts, Link — were it not for me, you would have rotted in that crypt. I am your salvation, just as you are mine.”

Link shuddered beneath his gaze, his blood going sour. Turning his head, Phantom Ganon sneered at Maz Koshia, “I’m not going anywhere. You want me gone? Go ahead. Kill your hero. We are bound together.”

Maz Koshia’s hands rolled into fists, his teeth baring. His skeleton rattled with caustic fury. “What kind of sabotage — ?!” he spat. With a roar, he hissed, “ _Bastard!_ You bloodsucking PARASITE!”

Phantom Ganon grinned, feigning a cringe. “Oof, such nasty words! You’re breaking my heart over here…” He shrugged. “But you’re absolutely right.”

As Maz Koshia fumed, Phantom Ganon then brought his eye to the Sheikah Slate, where it lay, sparking, in a puddle of Malice. He twitched, his body becoming transparent for a moment. He hung his head, only then registering that his chains were gone.

Phantom Ganon continued, his voice grim, “ _I need that Slate._ We both do.” He dragged his gaze back to Maz Koshia, demanding, “And _you’re_ going to fix it.”  
The monk reeled with disgust. His eyes tightened. “I-I beg your pardon?! Why would I _ever_ cater to _you?!_ What if I refuse?”

A heavy pause.

A fiendish light took Phantom Ganon’s eye. It made Maz Koshia’s skin crawl. He leaned back slightly.

“Then I’ll make you do it,” Phantom Ganon growled.

The spirit rocketed to his feet and charged toward Maz Koshia, his shadowy body sublimating into a billowing mass of darkness. From where he stood near the corner, Maz Koshia had nowhere to go to evade him. The monk only had time to raise his sword before Phantom Ganon barreled into his body, knocking him flat on his back. The monk immediately gave a guttural grunt, convulsing. He writhed on the floor, wrestling against Phantom Ganon as he forced his way inside him.

Link’s heart crushed with mortal terror as he watched the monk writhe on the floor. “Maz?!” he cried.

Link, Purah, and Symin exchanged a split-second glance. Purah threw her arms toward the monk, crying, “Help him!”

Breaking out in a sweat, Symin obeyed, rushing for the monk. Link tried to follow his suit, but both Purah and the spear in his knee held him back. They all stared, horrified, as Maz Koshia thrashed, howling. Everyone recoiled, their faces draining, when he twisted his head to the side, heaving up a mouthful of Malice.

Symin knelt by the monk, shivering with panic. He had no idea what to do. There was nothing he _could_ do. He reached for him, hoping to do _something,_ but Maz Koshia’s hand shot out and shoved him away. Symin hit the floor on his backside, gaping.

“S-s-stay back!” Maz Koshia forced out. “I — !”

A sudden, heavy _crack_ echoed from Maz Koshia, cutting him off — he sucked in a gasp. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the monk fell limp. He released a long, agonized sigh.

Nobody moved for an intense, eternal moment. Finally, Link whispered, his voice shattering the suffocating silence.

“...Maz?!”

The monk didn’t reply.

Link shuddered. “Maz Koshia?!” Link repeated, his voice breaking. “Maz?!”

Everyone gaped when the monk eventually proceeded to slowly sit himself up with a grunt, hanging his head so that his hat concealed his face. He held his warped sternum with one hand, the other digging his fingernails into the floor. He breathed deeply, heavily, as if burdened with something. Only he could hear the caustic demands hissing inside his skull.

“Curse you, Phantom Ganon…!” he growled under his breath. He recoiled as if he’d been shouted at. “Don’t get comfortable, now...”

“Maz?!” Link cried, giving a start.

Maz Koshia held up a shaking hand to dismiss everyone’s worries — not that they were assuaged. Not after what they’d just watched. “I’m fine,” he said, endeavoring to stay calm.

“What?!” Link, Purah, and Symin all chorused, their faces contorting. They broke into hysterics, talking over each other, their voices strained.

But Maz Koshia shook his head, brushing them off. The lab fell quiet again before the monk murmured, “Not now. Link first. It’s what he wants.”

Link choked on a lump of terror that had formed in his throat, his spine crawling. He knew who Maz Koshia meant, but he could barely stomach it. His gut roiled, making him gag.

Carefully, the monk got to his feet, still holding his chest. He strode across the lab, twitching every so often, his face angled toward the floor. Everyone watched him in transfixed horror. When he finally reached Link, he knelt, pausing for a moment, keeping his face hidden. Purah and Link gaped at him.

“Maz!” Link wheezed, reaching out and leaning toward him. “Maz, is he — ”

“Stay down, Link. It’s all right,” Maz Koshia said gently, laying a hand on Link’s chest and easing him to his back.

Link didn’t mean to ignore him, but he couldn’t help himself. He was so saturated with fear and anxiety that his limbs jittered, his head swilling with bilious heat. He sat up, his words flying out of him a mile a minute, “Maz — w-what’s going on — i-is he — ?!”

Maz Koshia’s hand knotted in Link’s tunic, cutting him off. He sighed. “He’s here, Link,” the monk said, his voice monotone. He raised his head, looking Link in the eye. His face was ashen, emotionless. His left eye, normally aglow with turquoise light, now burned crimson, Malice leaking out of his eye socket.

“...He’s inside,” the monk grunted.

Link’s eyes widened. His stomach instantly sullied with a vile mix of loathing and white-hot rage. He felt Phantom Ganon’s eye leering at him through Maz Koshia. It made his blood boil. His Malice bubbled and pulsated on his arms. Shaking violently, Link lunged at the monk without thinking, roaring, “You leave him alone, Phantom! You leave him alone RIGHT NOW!”

Maz Koshia winced as Phantom Ganon clamored inside him. Weathering it, the monk tightened his grip on Link’s tunic and held him steady, taking him firmly by the cheek. His touch sent a chill across Link’s skin, calming him however slightly.

“Easy, Link, easy!” Maz Koshia began. He scowled, both of his eyes smoldering. “I don’t like this any more than you do. But it won’t be permanent, I promise.”

“What?!” Link wheezed.

The monk shook his head. “He hates me as it is — he isn’t happy to be sharing a body with me. But it’s only until the Slate is fixed.” His expression softened, whereas Link’s only sank. “I’ll be all right, Link,” he insisted. “He won’t do anything to me… unless I disobey. He promised me that.”

Purah, her eyes as wide as dinner plates, scoffed, “Like we can trust anything _he_ says! Maz, are you crazy?!”

The monk’s shoulders fell. “Believe me, Director, I would rather die than become a means to an end for this psychopath.” As soon as he said it, he flinched, his breath catching. Releasing a sigh, Maz Koshia continued, “But... Phantom Ganon is right. He needs the Sheikah Slate to anchor himself to this world. And Link needs it, too. Without it, he cannot hope to reclaim the Divine Beasts, let alone enter them.” He grimaced, looking to Link. “You… probably shouldn’t have stabbed it…”

It only then dawned on Link just how reckless he had been. In the thick of things, he hadn’t even considered the consequences of destroying the ancient device. And the more he thought on it, the more he realized that, by stabbing the Slate, he had inadvertently given Phantom Ganon the freedom he needed to possess Maz Koshia.

This was all his fault. As usual.

Choking, Link held up the Sheikah Slate, staring, horrified, into the gaping hole melted into its screen. “No…! No, no, no…! What have I done? This is all my fault…! All my...” he wheezed, trailing off. His panic made his battered skull flush. Link’s head lolled in Maz Koshia’s grip, his vision dimming for a moment.

The monk held him steady, cradling his head. “Careful, now. It’s all right, Link. Don’t worry about it. We can fix this.” He frowned, his eyes scouring Link’s bloodied face. “...You’re lightheaded, nauseous? Blurry vision?”

Link nodded, his head heavy.

Maz Koshia’s lips pursed. “No doubt you’re concussed… He really did a number on you. Some way to treat your _master…”_ Stiffening for a moment, he patted Link’s cheek, reassuring him, “You’ll be fine. Here, give me your hand.” The monk slipped the Sheikah Slate from Link’s grasp, setting it down. Purah and Symin gathered in close, however warily, ready to assist.

Link raised a Malice-slathered hand. Maz Koshia took it, ignoring the subsequent smoking of his fingers. He brought Link’s Malice to his third eye, cupping his palm around it and holding it there. As if it knew that Link was injured, his Malice began to ooze, hot and thick, from his palm to his eye, slithering behind it and into his head. Link shuddered, his teeth rattling. Everyone stared, mystified, at him as his Malice repaired the web of fractures scattered across his skull, bringing some lucidity back to him.

The clouds suffocating Link’s mind lifted. A chill darted across his skin as the Malice filling his head trickled down and out of his nasal cavity. Shaking his head, he blinked it off, coming back to himself. Maz Koshia released his grip on his hand. Link lowered it into his lap, locking gazes with him.

“How are you feeling?” Maz Koshia, and by extent, Phantom Ganon, asked.

Link stared into Maz Koshia’s red eye, frowning. “I’m fine,” he replied, wiping at his nose. He gawked at his Malice. It was still difficult for him to process that what was so poisonous to others was like manna to him. He was completely healed.

Maz Koshia echoed his sentiments, giving him a small smile. “I’m glad. Now then,” the monk began, bringing his attention to the spear jammed into Link’s knee. He swallowed, pointing to it. “We need to get _this_ out.” Maz Koshia got to his feet, grabbing hold of the spear’s shaft. Link’s heart fluttered, his face twitching at the subtle spike of pain that struck him.

Maz Koshia’s jaw locked. “Hang in there, hero — this is going to hurt. Hold him down, will you, please?” the monk asked Symin and Purah. The pair obeyed, laying their hands on Link’s shin, averting their gazes. Link readied himself, hunkering down and gripping the nearby table leg.

“I’m going to pull on three, all right?” Maz Koshia instructed. “Ready? One, two… _three!”_

With a sickening _squelch,_ the monk wrenched the spear from Link’s knee. Raw blood and bone shimmered up at everyone in the crimson half-light. A shockwave of pain ripped through Link’s body, making him jolt. He gritted his teeth, half-crying out when his gut rolled, something hot shooting into his throat. Doubling over, he slapped a hand over his mouth, heaving.

Maz Koshia threw down Phantom Ganon’s spear, much to the spirit’s distaste. But the monk didn’t listen to his subsequent protest. He was immediately on his knees, grabbing Link’s free hand and pressing it against his knee. As his Malice poured into the wound to repair it, Link shuddered. His stomach clenched.

“I’m gonna be sick…!” Link grunted.

“If it wants to come out, let it,” Maz Koshia said reverently. Leaning back, he searched for something for Link to purge into. Symin grabbed a nearby bucket full of ancient screws, dumped them out, and handed it to Maz Koshia. Thanking him, the monk tucked it into Link’s lap.

Link latched onto it, jaw screwed shut, breathing heavily against the fire in his gut. But he bit it back. As the shock from his wounds gradually began to wear down, so did his nausea. Eventually, his stomach settled. He released a sigh, slumping over.

That seemed to be everyone’s cue. They all followed Link’s lead, sinking where they knelt, catching their breaths. But they weren’t out of the woods yet. Everyone focused on Link’s knee, watching his Malice feed into it with morbid fascination. They all jumped as periodical _snaps_ and gurgles issued from his wound as his Malice grafted bones and sealed shredded ligaments — all without any input on his part. It took a minute or two for everything to become whole, again. When it finally did, Link’s leg tingled.

Link shivered and took in a breath, removing his Malice-slicked hand from his knee. Everyone’s eyes bugged when they found his knee completely unblemished, his freshly-repaired bones aglow through his clean, semi-transparent skin. This, incidentally, was the same knee that the Yiga had displaced back in Kakariko; Phantom Ganon had remembered, targeting it as one of Link’s weak spots. But with the help of his Malice, even the lingering damage the Yiga had done was now totally erased.

From his perch within Maz Koshia, Phantom Ganon beamed at his master’s recovery. The monk felt it; it sent a shiver up his neck.

It fell quiet again. Everyone slowly brought their gazes up to meet. Maz Koshia blinked, giving a breathy snort at how ragged everyone looked — ruffled hair, wide and heavy eyes, bruised and blood-stained. No doubt, Link was the worst out of them all. He looked like he’d just fought his way out of a grave.

Maz Koshia gave Link a small smile and patted his leg, sighing, “Well, I guess that’s that.” Link nodded, lowering his eyes.

With Link’s injuries taken care of, the monk turned his attention to Purah and Symin. “Are you two all right?” he asked.

Symin nodded. “We’re fine,” he replied, his voice hollow. He gazed into Maz Koshia’s red eye, frowning. “He… jumped us after we turned away the townsfolk.” Symin winced, his eyes wandering to the burn on his ankle. “He dragged us inside, started raging.”

“He demanded that we find Link,” Purah added. “But we had no idea where you guys were.”

Maz Koshia’s chest hollowed out with guilt. He thumped his fist into the floor, scowling into Symin’s burn. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left him alone with you. I had no idea what he was… What damage he could do... ” He shuddered. “And you were alone with him all day…!” Head hanging, he mourned, “I’m sorry.”

Purah and Symin exchanged a miserable glance. “It’s all right, Maz Koshia,” Purah replied. “He didn’t hurt us… that badly.” She then looked to Link, gaping at the gore painting his face. “We weren’t what he wanted. Link is all he cares about. All he ever thinks about.” She shook her head, her mind bleeding with Phantom Ganon’s outbursts. She breathed, “He’s — he’s _insane.”_

The monk squirmed. Phantom Ganon listened in to their conversation with intrigue. Hanging his head, Maz Koshia replied, “Phantom Ganon hails from an era long since passed. He’s spent countless millennia being tortured for his failures. So, yes. He’s insane.” Phantom Ganon puffed with pride; Maz Koshia scowled, continuing, “And unfortunately, we’re stuck with him.”

Maz Koshia rested his gaze on Link, continuing, “He has bonded himself to you. The only way we can get rid of him is to kill you.” Link swallowed. Grinding his teeth, Maz Koshia went on, “...And he planned for that. Safe to say, he won’t be leaving us anytime soon. No, all that we can do now is cede to his demands. Like it or not, he has a point about the Slate. You need it.”

The monk sighed through his nose, picking up the device and inspecting it. “I… I need to get to work.” He rose to his feet and pointed a stern finger at his companions. “You need to rest. All of you.”

Link blinked, his brows shooting together. He shot to his feet as well. “What? No, I’m helping you! I broke it — I’m going to help.”

Maz Koshia gave him a pitied smile. “It’s fine, I can — ”

Purah and Symin cut him off by gathering to their feet. Maz Koshia froze, stunned. Link, Purah, and Symin all looked up to him earnestly as Purah added, “We’re helping, too, Maz. We’re in this together.”

Maz Koshia was touched by their willingness to help him. But he shivered as Phantom Ganon thrilled at his new set of lackeys. A smile cracked across the monk’s lips — one that wasn’t of his own volition. He stiffened, his gaze glazing over.

“Very well, then,” he breezed. “I could use some extra hands. This is… going to take some time.”

Everyone turned toward the table in the heart of the room. As Maz Koshia, Purah, and Link made their way towards it, Symin doubled back for the wall, flicking the lights on. The lab breathed with warm light, casting away the darkness blanketing the devastation Phantom Ganon had wrought. Everyone paused for a moment, taking in the remnants of his rather violent first impression — Link’s blood smearing the floor, scattered papers, broken shelves, chairs, and floorboards. He certainly knew how to make an entrance.

But they didn’t linger on it all for long. They had work to do.

Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin all pulled up chairs, clearing away space on the tabletop. With one of the chairs smashed, Link had nowhere to sit, but that was fine. He was too anxious to sit still, anyway. As they worked, he fetched supplies and tools for them. Maz Koshia laid the Sheikah Slate on the table, opening to a fresh page on his notepad and grabbing a pencil, making note of the damage the Slate had taken. It was by no means trivial. Before long, the device sputtered and died, sending Phantom Ganon into a nervous sweat that had Maz Koshia retching.

But after some reassurance on the monk’s part, as well as a few threats, the spirit stepped back, observing. Together, Maz Koshia, Link, Purah, and Symin tucked into repairing the Sheikah Slate. They spent the rest of the night carefully prying it open and separating its individual parts. Though he had worked with the Sheikah Slate before, Maz Koshia himself hadn’t personally designed it. As such, he requested the Slate Lite from Purah, using it as a reference point.

The Slate Lite intrigued Phantom Ganon. He almost longed for the familiar embrace of a machine, but he knew the Lite wasn’t nearly as powerful as the original. No, he’d just have to endure being cooped up within Maz Koshia’s body until the Sheikah Slate was in working order.

But unfortunately, that wouldn’t come to light anytime soon. Between salvaging all that they could and scrounging for any spare parts lying around — and there weren’t many — the repair process was slow. Phantom Ganon grew impatient by the time midnight struck.

After everything they had been through that day, everyone's eyelids were beginning to droop. Symin dragged his pencil across his notes, his sentences barely legible; Purah sorted through spare parts foggily; Link swayed on his feet at the end of the table, eyes glazed over, his elbows locked; Maz Koshia’s heavy head hung as he mindlessly tinkered with the Sheikah Slate’s parts. Having worked mostly in silence for the past several hours, they all were shocked awake when Maz Koshia began to hiss to himself.

He twitched, jerking his head as if someone was screaming in his ear. “...Have you not seen the damage here?” he groused to no one, gesturing toward the melted mechanical guts of the Slate. “This won’t be an easy fix.” A brief pause. The monk’s face twisted. “I know that’s what I said — I _can_ fix it. You just have to be patient.”

Link blinked, leaning over the table toward Maz Koshia. “Maz, is everything all right?” he wondered.

Maz Koshia’s gaze flew to Link. He frowned, smearing away some Malice from his left eye. “Everything’s fine.” He resumed fiddling with the Slate, grumbling, “ _Someone_ just isn’t willing to wait.” The moment he said it, he reacted as if he’d been punched in the throat. He doubled over, choking, his hand flying to his neck. Flecks of Malice flew out of his mouth.

Now awake, Link, Purah, and Symin lunged forward, gasping. But whereas Purah and Symin were worried, Link was anything but. His blood spiked with hot defiance, his eyes flashing. He slammed his Malice-slathered fist against the table, making everyone jump — including Phantom Ganon.  
“Enough,” Link growled, holding the spirit’s gaze. “You’re not helping.”

Sneering, yet heeding his master, Phantom Ganon let it be, backing off. Maz Koshia grimaced, releasing a long exhale. He held his aching chest.

“Thank you, Link,” the monk murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” Link replied, still glowering into Maz Koshia’s red eye.

Purah looked between the two of them, her brows furrowed. She then looked to the pieces of the Sheikah Slate. “I don’t get it — what’s his rush? It’s only been a few hours,” she wondered.

Maz Koshia rested his elbows on the tabletop, holding his head in his hands. “He can’t stand this. He’ll only leave my body once the Slate is repaired — once he has something else to cling to. That, and, well…” Maz Koshia frowned at Link. “His countdown still stands.”

“What?” Link gasped. In all the commotion, Phantom Ganon’s countdown had been the last thing on his mind. “What do you mean? I-It’s still _going?”_

Maz Koshia nodded. “I’m afraid so. He’s counting every second, itching to teach you how to use your Malice.”

Link straightened, his brows hitting his hairline. “ _Teach me?!”_ he snorted. A short spurt of bewildered laughter blasted out of him. “Why would he think I’d want to learn _anything_ from him after what happened? After what he did?” Maz Koshia’s fist closed, Phantom Ganon snarling. Link, noting the monk’s reaction, looked into his red eye, spitting, “If this is what you truly are, then I refuse to learn from you. I’m backing out.”

Maz Koshia shivered, his red eye smoldered with betrayal. He ground his jaw and pursed his lips, swallowing. “I think we both know that’s not an option, Link,” he breathed.

The monk gave a sudden jolt when one of his ribs snapped. He hunched over the tabletop, grimacing, clutching his side. Everyone rushed forward, appalled. Link had a mind to chew out Phantom Ganon further.

“Phantom — !” he began, snarling, only for Maz Koshia to cut him off.

“He’s going to teach you, whether you like it or not,” he promised, his voice grim. “He has to do it… in three days… beneath the rays of the coming Blood Moon. It’s what he’s been waiting for, Link.”

Link froze, his eyes widening. His heart stuttered for some reason.

Purah’s eyes bulged. “Blood Moon?!” she repeated. “ _That’s_ what he’s waiting for?! The Blood Moon?”

“I completely forgot about that…!” Symin whimpered.

Link’s gaze jumped between Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin. “Blood Moon…?!” He gasped. “What is that? W-why does that sound like a bad thing?”

Symin tried to reassure him with, “It’s okay, Link, it’s not like the moon’s going to crash into the planet, or something.”

Maz Koshia added, “Maybe so, but, during a Blood Moon… Ganon’s power grows.”

Everyone simultaneously turned their eyes on Link. His blood ran cold. Maz Koshia inspected him from his third eye to the Malice that still coated his arms. He gave a rattled sigh, his face twisted with anxiety. “Normally, I wouldn’t worry, but… I have no idea what may or may not happen to you during one, what with your Malice…?”

Link stiffened, his eyes flying to his sludgy arms. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he folded his arms, shifting his feet. A pang of nausea seeped into his stomach.

“ _...Will_ anything happen to me, Maz?” he wondered, his voice shaky.

“I don’t know, Link,” the monk frowned, his heart breaking. “I wish I did. I’m afraid all we can do is wait.” He looked upon the broken Sheikah Slate and held his throat, adding, “But if we don’t repair the Slate before then… I won’t be around to find out.”

Everyone stopped cold, their eyes glued to the Malice leaking out of the monk’s eye. Link shuddered. He knew what Maz Koshia meant. They all did. But he wouldn’t let it happen.

Fire stoked in Link’s blood. “Then let’s get to work. Let’s fix the Slate,” he said firmly, straightening and blinking the exhaustion from his eyes. “I won’t let him do anything to you, Maz.”

The monk swallowed the trepidation in his throat. He gave a soft nod, murmuring, “All right.”

They knew what they had to do. “I’ll make a pot of coffee,” Symin offered, rising from his chair.

“I’ll grab some snacks,” Purah added.

Link and Maz Koshia kept their gazes locked. Link’s jaw worked. His fists closed. “Let’s do this, Maz.”

The monk nodded.

As the four of them got back to work, somewhat rejuvenated by Maz Koshia’s haunting words, Phantom Ganon watched them with dark delight. Despite this rather unforeseen turn of events, things were working out in his favor — just as they should.

He sighed, making himself comfortable. Soon, he would be free of the monk and back within the Slate. Back with his master. Soon, they would be reunited beneath the bloody rays of the moon. He knew what would happen during the Blood Moon. It would be unlike anything Hyrule had ever seen.

And he couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh! What a chapter! This one was a BLAST. Kind of dark, kind of violent, but a joy to put together nevertheless. I hope you enjoyed the official debut of our spirit.
> 
> So, was anybody right in their guesses?! Was he all you hoped he'd be?! Honestly, I've had WAY too much fun getting into his character. I loved writing his outbursts, his creepy obsession with Link, his fight scenes... everything! He's going to be a very entertaining part of the story, and I can't wait to bring you along for the ride.
> 
> So here we are, on the cusp of the upcoming Blood Moon. I remember my first Blood Moon in BotW... Link's wouldn't go nearly as smoothly as mine. Any guesses as to what's going to happen? It's going to be insane, I'll tell you that much. Phantom Ganon won't hold back this time. 
> 
> All in all, I really enjoyed this chapter. I loved writing the fight between Maz Koshia and Phantom Ganon. I wanted Phantom Ganon to just completely wipe the floor with everyone -- all that pent-up rage would do that to someone. That said, had Maz Koshia been healthy or otherwise uninjured, he would have won that fight hands-down. But he wasn't. :( Maybe Phantom Ganon planned on that? He's rather devious...
> 
> Anyway, I won't ramble any longer. THANK YOU so much for reading! I look forward to seeing you in the next chapter. Until then, stay safe, stay happy, stay healthy. You're amazing!
> 
> \- Sammy


	21. Beyond Repair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, chapter 21 of Corrupted Hero! This update is more special than normal: this story just had its two-year birthday! Can you believe it? They grow up so fast. :P Thanks for coming along for the ride. And you know what else, this chapter is also a a birthday gift from me to you on MY birthday! Hurray! I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Here, our group will endure some of the aftermath of Phantom Ganon’s entrance, as well as tackle the dawn of the second day. What awaits them? Read on, and find out!
> 
> As always, I want to give each and every one of you a huge, heartfelt thank you for your continued support. I couldn’t ask for a better audience and group of friends. I appreciate your readership and can’t wait to show you more!
> 
> Enjoy!

Link, Purah, and Symin fixed their bleary gazes on Maz Koshia as he crossed out another line on his notepad. Pausing, the monk set his pencil down, his brow wrinkling as he ran his gaze over the list on the page.

For a moment, the only sounds in the stuffy air of the lab were the subtle humming of the Guidance Stone and the tapping of the rain that had begun to fall outside. But the group hardly noticed the rain, let alone that morning was finally breaking. No, they were both too exhausted and too immersed in their work to even realize that they had worked through the night.

Link shifted his feet, swallowing. He stared at Maz Koshia, sweating somewhat, before he dared ask, “...How bad is it, Maz?”

The monk sighed, sinking into his chair — something that didn’t bode well with his company. He made a face as Phantom Ganon itched with anticipation within him. Ignoring the odd sensation, Maz Koshia pinched the bridge of his nose, endeavoring to keep his voice light as he replied, “Well, the good news is that we only need a few things.” Continuing, he shrugged, his voice sinking, “Bad news is… they’re some of the most sophisticated instruments the Sheikah race has ever designed.”

Purah and Symin cringed. Phantom Ganon boiled with exasperation, making Maz Koshia grunt and clutch his aching chest. Link’s heart gave a heavy _thud_ and his face twisted, his gut souring with guilt.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Link hung his head, his Malice-slicked hands rolling into fists as he leaned against the table. His eyes burned as he dragged them along the vast array of ancient machine parts crowding the tabletop.

Overnight, the group had completely disassembled the Sheikah Slate and the Slate Lite down to their individual gears, screws, and springs, working till their fingers bled. It had taken them an agonizing _three hours_ just to sort through the Slate’s seemingly-endless menagerie of components, comparing them to the Slate Lite for what was salvageable.

As Link had watched Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin work, his head had swilled with an odd mixture of wonder and horror. The Sheikah Slate was incredibly complex — an ancient technological masterpiece that he couldn’t even begin to hope to understand. He followed along as best he could, but in the end, all he had to show for it was the headache pounding between his ears.

Amazingly, even after Link had driven a plasma blade through it, most of the Sheikah Slate was intact, thank the Goddess. But for every one piece that was in working order, there were another two that were fried. Taking a tally, they had piled everything aside on a spare table.

Link risked a glance at the ruined parts, only to immediately recoil. The sight of them tore him apart. They served only as a reminder of his recklessness. He had done that — destroyed something as irreplaceable as the Sheikah Slate. He wanted to stab himself in his third eye for being so stupid.

As Link wrestled with his own guilt, Symin’s eyes lingered on the Slate’s broken parts. “What exactly do we need?” he wondered.

Maz Koshia pointed his pencil to the corresponding pieces of the Slate Lite, droning, “The screen, three of the six processors, some fiber optics, and the power core.”

“Oh, goddess...” Purah groaned, plunking her face onto the tabletop.

Everyone’s stomachs simultaneously sank — Link’s due his own ignorance, and Purah, Maz Koshia, and Symin’s out of sheer anguish. Link didn’t fully understand the monk’s jargon, yet dread still brewed in his gut. But the three Sheikah knew the gravity of these repairs. Maz Koshia hadn’t sugarcoated it; the parts they needed were some of the most intricate facets of engineering that Hyrule had ever seen. And they hadn’t been actively manufactured in ten thousand years.

Though he knew it was fruitless, the monk cast another glance to the small armada of boxes gathered around the table, each full to the brim with spare parts and junk. They had been rifling through them for the better part of the night as well. While Purah had a substantial collection, with replacements for most of their needs, they had come up woefully short on the most crucial components — a fact that now loomed over their heads like a shadow.

Wincing, Maz Koshia peered at Purah, clarifying, “This _is_ all you have, is it not, Director?”

Peeling her forehead off the table, the girl gave a miserable nod. “A hundred years of research,” she sighed, brandishing her hands. “You’re lookin’ at it.”

Everyone fell silent for a few moments as the reality of their task compounded with their crushing fatigue. Their spines and necks were stiff; their eyes were heavy, dry, and bloodshot. They hadn’t taken a single break since they had begun working the night before. Phantom Ganon hadn’t allowed it. If one of them so much as yawned, he would send Maz Koshia into a coughing fit or threaten to break another one of his ribs. Despite this — or because of it, they weren’t sure — they had made impressive progress in such a short time, their repairs fueled by coffee, intimidation, and anxiety alone.

But now they had hit a roadblock. And Phantom Ganon was not pleased. He was growing sick of being in-sync with Maz Koshia’s scratchy breath, of listening to his incessant train of thought, bored of looking solely through his eyes. He wanted out. He wanted the Slate repaired. And he wanted it done _now._

But before Phantom Ganon could make his frustrations known, Link caught everyone’s attention. Scowling to himself, he hissed, “This is all my fault.” He thumped his fist against the table. “I’m such an idiot.”

Maz Koshia frowned. His voice hardened some, gaining an almost fatherly tone as he said, “Come now, there’s no sense in that, Link. It was in the heat of the moment.” A glare flickered across his brow. “Not to mention you were bludgeoned half to death.”

Purah echoed his sentiments, adding, “And I was the one who encouraged you.”

Link wanted to shrivel up beneath their sympathetic gazes. He felt he didn’t deserve them. And while a better part of him appreciated their compassion for him, the other still wallowed in the suffocating mire that was his guilt. He gave a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

Link withered beneath Maz Koshia’s gaze when the monk continued, his voice tender, “We all had a hand in this. Don’t beat yourself up — we can fix it. We’ll just… have to find the spare parts somewhere else.”

Phantom Ganon seethed at that. Maz Koshia dug his nails into the table, ignoring him.

“But where?” Link groaned, raising his hands, oblivious to the spirit’s protests. “Where else could we possibly look? The Slate’s ten thousand years old. It’s not like you can just pick up parts from a shop!”

Link was right. Painfully right. And everyone knew it. Maz Koshia sighed and massaged his temple, murmuring, “If only...”

Conversation faltered as the four of them strained their wearied minds to scrape up a solution. Link ran his fingers through his hair, trying to control his mounting panic as his Malice writhed on his arms. Symin and Maz Koshia shared a worried glance before Symin half-heartedly sifted through a box of parts. Meanwhile, Purah blinked, hard, trying to clear her brain fog. She squinted between the parts of her Slate Lite and the remains of the Sheikah Slate, her brows knitting together.

Squirming, she eventually said, “Well… we _could_ use the Slate Lite’s parts to replace them. All we’d have to do is forge a new screen.”

Everyone looked to Maz Koshia, who gave a sudden start, his lungs tingling. Phantom Ganon had liked the sound of Purah’s suggestion — the sooner the Slate was whole again, the sooner he could leave Maz Koshia’s body. The spirit’s intrigue sent an airy bloom of delight into Maz Koshia’s chest, teasing a small smile out of him.

But the monk wholly disagreed with Purah’s proposal. Wiping the smile off his face, he shivered and shot her a wounded look. “No, Director. I won’t ask you to sacrifice your project,” he said, his voice low. “You worked hard on it.”

“But if it’s for Link…?” she tried to say.

The monk denied her with a firm, yet gentle, “That won’t be necessary. We’ll find replacements elsewhere. Though, I’m not sure how long that’ll — ”

But the words had no sooner left the monk’s lips when Phantom Ganon revolted, thrashing against his host’s ribcage. Two of Maz Koshia’s ribs snapped, punching the breath out of him. He wheezed and doubled over, clutching his chest.

Everyone jolted, gasping. Link, his blood spontaneously boiling, tore around the table to meet the monk. Phantom Ganon had pulled stunts like this one too many times throughout the night for Link’s liking. It was getting old. But the moment Link arrived to help the monk, Maz Koshia twisted away, Malice spurting from his mouth as he broke into a wracking coughing fit.

Link stopped cold, his heart swelling with rage. His Malice throbbed. He skirted about Maz Koshia, getting to his knees so he could look him face-to-face. Malice dripped down the monk’s check from his reddened eye as he struggled to breathe.

“Phantom!” Link snarled over his coughing. “Enough! We’re working on it, all right?!”

But that wasn’t good enough for the spirit. Both he and Maz Koshia held Link in their gazes. Whereas the monk’s was pained, the spirit’s was demanding. Maz Koshia shook his head, choking out between coughs, “Not — f-fast enough — !”

Behind them, Purah stammered, her voice strained, “We’ll use the Slate Lite’s parts! We promise!”

But Maz Koshia still refused, even amidst Phantom Ganon’s threats. “No!” the monk shouted, slapping a hand onto the tabletop. “We’ll figure something out — !” he commanded, only to gag on the Malice clogging his throat. He suddenly lurched forward, spitting up a mouthful of poison onto the floor between his legs.

Link recoiled, gawking at the sheer amount of Malice that had come out of Maz Koshia. An involuntary growl slithered out of him, his teeth baring at Phantom Ganon’s tantrum.

Something fowl bubbled up from deep within Link at the thought of the spirit. Something familiar. His legs itched as he was possessed with the urge to leap up and tackle Maz Koshia out of his chair. He wanted to pin him to the floor. He wanted to smash his ribcage, reach inside him, and rip Phantom Ganon out of his body. The thought alone sent a jitter into Link’s Malice, exciting it.

The desire came on so suddenly, so _violently_ , that it startled Link. He shivered, blinking it out of his mind. But as he endeavored to clear his head of his savage thoughts, he couldn’t help but notice the distinct flash of Maz Koshia’s red eye and the subtle curl of his lip.

But Link didn’t get the chance to dwell on it. Behind them, Purah and Symin flew into action, their minds surging. They had to figure out _something_ with the Slate’s parts. Their scrambled thought process brought Link out of his own head for a moment.

“O-okay, erm… where could we look for more parts...?!” Purah rambled, flapping her hands. “We can’t go to Robbie — h-he’s too far away… The Royal Lab was destroyed…! Ugh, where else…?! C’mon, _think!”_

Symin’s eyes bulged as he tossed his gaze about the lab. His following words flew out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying. “We’ve already stripped clean the few Guardians we had lying around,” he wheezed. “Where else could we…?”

Symin trailed off. Nobody spoke for a second — even Maz Koshia’s coughing waned as Phantom Ganon overheard Symin’s suggestion.

Link’s head snapped up, his mind bursting with memories of facing the three Guardians that the spirit had summoned. _They_ were built from Sheikah technology. Surely, they ought to have something they needed?

“What about the Guardians at the lake?” Link blurted.

Everyone came to the same realization at the same time. Regrettably, the four of them had all been too tired to realize the obvious solution right under their noses. And Phantom Ganon had been too frustrated, but he wouldn’t admit to it.

Maz Koshia’s eyes widened. He laid a hand on his ribs, grumbling, “Argh, of course! W-why didn’t I think of that?”

Phantom Ganon groaned and rolled his eye, spurring one final cough out of Maz Koshia. The monk tried to direct it into a handkerchief, but he couldn’t grab it in time. The ensuing spatter of Malice splashed against Link’s face, making him twitch.

The monk froze, his face draining. He looked about to be sick. Shuddering, he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and smeared the poison off of Link’s face.

“S-sorry...” he breathed.

“It’s okay,” Link replied stiffly.

There was a brief lull as Maz Koshia studied Link’s face. He still had blood crusted on his bone mask. In the heat of Phantom Ganon’s demands, he hadn’t had the chance to even consider cleaning himself up.

But neither of them could mind that. Not now. Clearing his throat, Maz Koshia continued, his voice rough, “Those Guardians... should have everything we need. Processors, fiber optics, power cores…” He paused, catching his breath before laying eyes on the Slate’s melted screen. “We’ll just need to make a new screen.”

Purah hopped up on her chair, a new light sparkling in her eyes. “We have the materials — and the furnace is lit up and ready to go.”

“Perfect,” the monk replied, his breath shallow and shaky. “Let’s do that.”

Satisfied, Phantom Ganon released his grip on the monk, though he still kept a close watch on everyone. Finally, they had a plan. It had taken them long enough. Maz Koshia released a long, strained sigh as some of the pressure on his lungs eased; he slumped into his chair and clung to his side, his teeth bared. Link scooted closer, his face warped with worry. The monk offered him a faint smile.

Purah and Symin leapt from their chairs and darted over to Link and Maz Koshia, whereupon everyone exchanged concerned glances. Link, his insides frothing with anxiety, was about to urge them all to get moving. But Maz Koshia did so for him.

“Come on,” the monk murmured, turning his gaze on the doors. “We ought to get to the lake.” His face twisted into a grimace as he attempted to stand.

Link shot to his feet, forcing him back into his chair as gently as he could. “We’ll take care of it, Maz,” he insisted.

Symin interjected, making Link jump, “No — _we’ll_ go.” He gestured to himself and Purah, who nodded. Symin continued to Link, “You stay with him. Phantom will… probably want you around.”

Link’s jaw ground. Maz Koshia’s fingers dug into his chest as the spirit stirred at his mention.

The monk nodded, urging Purah and Symin, “You know what you’re looking for. Grab anything you can that has Malice on it. He wants more.” His eyes flicked to Link’s Malice for a split second before he added, “Y-you ought to wear gloves.”

Symin’s eyes hardened with determination. “Got it,” he said.

The pair wasted no time in clambering over the boxes surrounding the table, hunting through the lab for supplies. From the clutter, they unearthed a few pairs of thick smelter’s gloves, their field bags, some empty buckets, and a toolkit. With everything gathered, Symin and Purah made for the front doors.

“We’ll be right back!” Purah called.

“Be careful,” Maz Koshia replied.

The moment Symin pulled open the doors, a boisterous gust of wind blasted into the lab. The wind whistled as it entered, cooling the muggy air and scattering papers. Everyone paused, breathing in the heady summer petrichor that flooded their senses. The rain that had begun at dawn had crescendoed from a light trickle to a heavy onslaught, pouring off the sagging roof and whispering against the walls. Between repairing the Slate and staving off Phantom Ganon’s outburst, the group hadn’t even noticed.

But the torrent outside didn’t deter Purah and Symin. Maz Koshia had given them a job to do. And they would see it done. That — and their desperation to get away from Phantom Ganon’s raging — drove their feet. After exchanging a quick glance, the pair snatched their coats and wicker hats from some hooks on the wall and bade Link and Maz Koshia goodbye.

As their footsteps faded away into the storm, Link and Maz Koshia fixed their gazes for a moment on the open doorway. The dawn beyond was grey, gloomy. Water was already pooling on the stoop. One of the doors, its hinges damaged from Phantom Ganon’s attack, thumped against the wall with each gale that snapped into the lab. They listened to it for a moment, only then registering that they had entered the second day before the Blood Moon rose.

Link’s heart skipped a beat — he wasn’t sure why. Shaking it off, he turned his gaze on Maz Koshia. He got to his knees again, stressing, “Maz, are you all right?”

The monk took in a raspy breath, crumpling up his handkerchief. “I’m fine,” he replied, giving Link a weary smile. “Really. Don’t worry about me.”

But Link wasn’t convinced. He scowled at the trickle of Malice crawling out of the monk’s left eye socket. The sight of it sent a shudder through the poison coating his arms.

They both noticed, their spines stiffening. Maz Koshia’s smile faded. He sighed, wiping at his eye with his handkerchief, murmuring, “It’s ransom, Link. That’s all this is. He would have gone for you if I hadn’t been the better target.”

Link’s fists clenched till his knuckles popped. He glared into Maz Koshia’s reddened eye, growling, “But he said he wouldn’t hurt you unless you disobeyed him.” His eyes burned with betrayal. “He _lied,_ Maz.”

The monk’s posture withered at that. He shook his head, giving Link a start. “Phantom Ganon is many things, Link,” Maz Koshia began, “...but a liar is not one of them.” He gave a scratchy sigh, gesturing to his misshapen ribcage. “I haven’t been as compliant as I should be. I’m bringing this on myself.”

“I don’t care, Maz!” Link fired back. “ _This has to stop.”_

“And it will,” the monk insisted. “As soon as the Slate is repaired.”

Link’s brows knit together, a tepid trickle of anxiety seeping into his gut. “How do you know that? We can’t trust him, Maz — you said so yourself.” He wet his lips, shaking his head. “How do you know he won’t turn on us again, once it’s fixed? W-what if we can’t fight him off? What if he…?”

Link trailed off when Maz Koshia shivered, his eyes widening. Phantom Ganon had whispered something in his mind — a black promise.

“...Maz?” Link breathed.

Tightening his grip on his ribs, the monk returned his gaze to Link, reassuring him, “He won’t turn on us. We’ll have done what he wanted. He’ll be free of my body, he’ll have the Slate back. And he’ll be back with you.” His expression hardened. “That’s all he wants, Link.”

Link leaned back, his blood souring at that disquieting reminder of Phantom Ganon’s obsession for him. He could suddenly feel the spirit’s eye honing in on him through Maz Koshia, smoldering with a crazed fire. Link shuddered as if the ghost were worming his fingers under his skin and crawling inside of him.

Maz Koshia could feel it, too. It sent a swell of heat into his eyes. He screwed them shut for a moment before clapping his hands on his knees, eager to change the subject. He let out a motivational puff of breath, bringing both his and Link’s gazes to the ruined screen of the Sheikah Slate.

The monk heaved himself to his feet, extending a hand to Link. “Come on,” he encouraged. “The sooner we forge that screen, the sooner he’ll be out. I could use your help.”

Link swallowed. “Okay,” he breathed. He refused Maz Koshia’s hand, knowing that he would only burn him.

Link shadowed Maz Koshia as the monk shambled around the lab for supplies. Here and there he gathered various tools, piling them into Link’s awaiting arms. Link briefly wondered what exactly they were going to be doing with it all. Maz Koshia had given him some heavy-duty tongs, a few more pairs of smelter’s gloves and aprons, a jar of pale sand, a spool of transparent, hair-thin wire, scissors, and a steel brick imprinted with a rectangular mold.

Pausing, Maz Koshia looked over the supplies in Link’s arms, his brow furrowing as he marked off his mental checklist. He still needed a few things. The monk proceeded to pluck up Link’s hood, which he secured around Link’s neck, as well as a thick cast iron bucket from the corner. After blowing the cobwebs out of it, he motioned for Link to follow him outside.

They gathered on the porch, looking on for a moment at Maz Koshia’s prize: the ancient furnace in the front yard. Link hadn’t paid much attention to it thus far, but he couldn’t ignore it now. The furnace breathed with brilliant, scorching blue light. The rain that pelted the cliffside hissed as it gathered around the furnace in a dense cloud of steam. Link could already feel the intense heat radiating off of it, warming his clothes.

Maz Koshia set down his cargo and waved away the steam, squinting. Perhaps he ought to wait until the storm passed to do this? But a stab of pain in his chest reminded him of the impatient specter he was housing, as well as his expectations. He had no choice.

Securing his hat, Maz Koshia turned to Link, pulling his hood over his head for him. Smiling, he helped Link unload his burden onto the porch before handing him an apron and gloves.

“Put these on,” Maz Koshia said, his voice gaining that same fatherly intensity he had had before. “That furnace is _extremely_ hot.”

“No kidding,” Link gaped. Once they were suited up, Link glanced at their supplies. “All right,” he began, trying to piece together what they would be doing. “What do you need me to do?”

Maz Koshia picked up the jar of sand. Drumming his fingers against it, he looked at Link rather sheepishly before he muttered, “I will tell you up front that I’ve, erm, only done this a few times before…” Link blinked at that, but nevertheless heeded the monk as he continued, “This is delicate work, but do exactly as I say, and we should be fine. Ready?”

Link nodded.

Maz Koshia instructed Link to grab the cast iron bucket. Doing as he was told, Link held it aloft as the monk poured the sand into it. The monk then took the bucket from Link and hauled it over to the furnace, setting it onto its front receptacle. Despite the wave of heat between him and the furnace, Link leaned in to get a closer look. But the monk extended an arm, keeping both him and his curiosity at bay.

From a safe distance, the pair waited for the furnace to do its work. Over the course of a few minutes, Link and Maz Koshia watched the furnace heat the sand through to several thousand degrees until it liquefied into a puddle of molten glass. It glowed with searing white light. Both Link and Phantom Ganon were hypnotized by it; Maz Koshia couldn’t help but smile at their awe. Once the glass was sufficiently malleable, the monk broke Link’s gaze by pointing him to the steel mold, the scissors, and the spool of wire.

“Grab those, will you, please?” Maz Koshia requested.

Link brought them forward. Taking the wire, the monk began to unravel it, measuring out a segment roughly the length of his hand and instructing Link to snip it. Link did so. The pair repeated the process several more times till they had a neat bunch of wire. Handing the trimmings to Link, the monk encouraged him to follow as he doubled-back for the molten glass.

Grabbing the bucket’s handle, Maz Koshia ducked his head and urged Link, “Get my hat — hurry. Keep the glass dry.”

Confused for only a moment, Link stood on his toes and snatched the monk’s conical hat from his head, hovering its wide brim over the bucket to shield it from the rain. Both of them winced against the heat blasting off of the molten glass.

Squinting, Maz Koshia gestured his eyes toward the lab, continuing, “Let’s bring it inside to cool — quickly, now.”

The pair hustled off at an awkward shamble toward the lab. Link did his best to cover the bucket from the rain. Maz Koshia, meanwhile, struggled with his cargo, his broken ribs flaring with hot pain in his chest against his labored breath. Miraculously, they made it inside without slipping or spilling anything.

“Here we are…” Maz Koshia grunted, lowering the bucket to a stony portion of the floor by the entryway. Pausing, he let loose a few wet coughs into the crook of his arm. The sounds made Link shudder, but he forced himself not to fly into a raging panic. He drew the doors shut behind them, quickly joining Maz Koshia as he knelt near the bucket.

The monk turned to Link and outstretched his hand, requesting, a tad breathlessly, “May I have the mold, please?”  
Link passed it to him, scooting back to give him room to work. Maz Koshia laid the mold down onto the stone floor and heaved up the bucket with some difficulty, carefully pouring the liquid glass into the mold. Link drank it in with a stomach-clenching mix of trepidation and amazement. The glass flowed, honey-like in consistency, out of the bucket, slowly oozing into the mold’s corners.

“There we go,” Maz Koshia wheezed. When all of the glass had been poured, he set down the bucket with a heavy _thunk._ Catching his breath, he then gestured to the mold, inviting Link, “Why don’t you give it a few taps... to get rid of any air bubbles?”

Link’s eyes widened, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. “O-okay,” he whimpered. He swallowed, his face burning — both out of fear and from the heat of the glass. With his gloves securely on his hands, he took up the mold. He gently knocked it against the floor a few times before quickly setting it down as if it would bite him.

Maz Koshia paused, leaning over and inspecting their work. His gaze then wandered up to Link, his eyes glittering. “Nice work. We’re almost done,” he said.

Both Link and Phantom Ganon beamed, the latter’s excitement coaxing a smile out of Maz Koshia. Shaking it off, the monk slipped the wires from Link’s grasp. His hands shook as he laid them length- and width-wise in a grid on the surface of the molten glass. When the final wire was laid, the monk raised his hands, looking everything over in silence for a moment.

Link’s heart thrummed in his chest. His gaze flitted between Maz Koshia and the mold. “Is that it?” he wondered.

A smile slowly spread across Maz Koshia’s lips. He nodded. “That’s it.”

A small wave of relief washed through all three of them like a flood, each for different reasons. But they weren’t quite finished. His tension easing somewhat, the monk picked up the mold and rose from the floor, murmuring, “Now all that’s left to do is to let it cool.”

After a brief search of the lab for a place, Maz Koshia’s eyes settled on an old kiln recessed into the far wall. No doubt, Purah had once used it to cool the screen of her Slate Lite. Maz Koshia strode across the lab, endeavoring to keep his gait steady, Link on his heels. Link unconsciously held his breath as the monk slide the mold into the kiln. When it was safely cradled inside, both of their shoulders fell.

There was a brief pause. Maz Koshia leaned back, his hands finding his spine. He sighed when his back gave a sharp _crack._ “Well, there you have it,” he mused. He swiveled his head toward Link. “Once the screen is cooled, we’ll reassemble the Sheikah Slate. Easy as that.”

Blinking away his awe, Link voiced what both he and Phantom Ganon were thinking. His brows furrowed. “...How long will that take?”

Maz Koshia’s hand then wandered to his side. He took a breath, bracing himself for the inevitable eruption from Phantom Ganon. “Since it’s a rather thin piece…” he began. “I’d give it until sunset.”

Both Link and Maz Koshia stiffened, waiting for something to happen to the monk — a coughing fit, the snap of a bone. Something worse. But, to their shock, Phantom Ganon remained relatively calm. Maz Koshia only squirmed slightly when the spirit sighed, making himself comfortable. Phantom Ganon wasn’t upset, nor impatient. They had a heading for the Slate’s repairs, now — no more nebulous promises or uncertainties. It was only a matter of time.

And time was on the spirit’s side. He could wait.

It went quiet for a few moments. Rain tapped at the windows. Maz Koshia waited for any other remarks or outbursts from the spirit, but none came.

Link approached him, unnerved by the spirit’s silence. “Are we good, Maz?” he asked.

Maz Koshia turned his gaze on him. He was about to reassure him, but as he laid eyes on Link, he paused. His expression saddened as he beheld Link’s haggard, slouching posture, his weary, gore-stained face and tunic. Now that Maz Koshia wasn’t under the spirit’s thumb, he stared at Link as if seeing him for the first time. His mind swam with flashes of Phantom Ganon’s attack — at the gruesome aftermath they had had to ignore because of the spirit’s insistence.

And yet, as battered as he had been, there Link was, worried about him.

The monk smiled, though it wasn’t one of joy. It was something else. Perhaps pity? Regret? He wasn’t sure. But he let it lie. All that mattered was that Link was fine — for the most part.

“Yes, Link. We’re good,” he replied. Looking to lighten the mood, the monk then snorted, inspecting Link’s face. “I mean you no offense, but… you look awful.”

Link was too tired to be taken aback by the monk’s comment. He gave an empty chuckle, his heavy eyelids drooping. “So do you.”

Maz Koshia echoed his laughter. He grazed his fingers against the bloody handprint branding Link’s tunic, murmuring, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The monk took Link by the shoulder and ushered him over to the table. They both dropped like dead weight into their chairs, laying aside their aprons and gloves. Maz Koshia helped Link out of his tunic, setting it aside to be washed. He then grabbed a pitcher of water from the table that Symin had yet to turn into another draft of coffee. Removing the lid, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wet it down.

Scooting his chair toward Link, the monk took him by the jaw, wiping away the blood crusted on his bone mask. Link closed his eyes, the monk’s gentle touch and the repeated motion of his hand warming the anxiety lingering in his veins, soothing him.

And yet… something inside Link ached as Maz Koshia cleaned him off. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was. But an emptiness settled within him, heavy and cold. It sunk him into his chair, his throat tightening.

Link’s eyes fluttered open when the monk finished. They locked gazes.

Maz Koshia smiled at him. “There, now,” he mused. “I can see your face better.”

Under normal circumstances, those words wouldn’t have phased Link. But not then. Link’s heart stopped for a moment, stealing his breath. He swallowed hard, a shudder ripping through him as Maz Koshia’s words stirred up something in his mind. Something that leaked into his blood like poison.

His face...?

Link’s jaw worked as he stared into Maz Koshia’s red eye. A bloom of nausea swelled in Link’s gut beneath Phantom Ganon’s gaze. He looked away, hanging his head.

Maz Koshia set down his handkerchief. “What’s the matter, hero?”

Link cupped a hand around his bone mask, trying in vain to hide it. “This is his face, Maz,” he muttered, his voice gravelly. “ _His face._ And I’m stuck with it.”

Maz Koshia stiffened. He wondered when this revelation would resurface. It had lurked in the back of his mind all night, like a sleeping cancer.

He cursed himself for not seeing it before. But when he had first met Link, he had been in such shock at his appearance that he hadn’t even considered where his new face had come from. And with the whirlwind of revelations that they had uncovered… he hadn’t gotten the chance to think it through. Not until the night before. Until that point, the mask had simply… become Link’s face. Not Phantom Ganon’s. Link’s.

And that was his mistake. That was _everyone’s_ mistake. Link had gotten used to it somewhat, but Phantom Ganon’s grim reminder had only rekindled his own self-hatred. It devoured him from the inside, whittling him down to nothing.

As Link tried to conceal himself, Maz Koshia ran his eyes along the incisors lining his bone mask, to his horns, his third eye. The monk’s heart shriveled in his chest. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how it felt to be forced into wearing such a ghastly thing — to have it drilled into your head every time you met someone. To have them spit in your face and cower before you… like you were a monster.

Maz Koshia hesitated to reach out to Link for a moment, worried about upsetting him further. But eventually, he gathered his courage. Link needed him. Extending his hand, the monk wondered, “May I?”

Link froze as Maz Koshia’s fingers brushed his hand aside and softly prodded the edges of his bone mask, searching for an opening. He slid his fingertips near Link’s nostrils with one hand and gripped one of Link’s horns in the other. Pausing, Maz Koshia shot him a glance, his brows knitting together. Link knew where this was going. He gripped his chair, digging his heels into the floor as Maz Koshia began pulling on his mask.

The monk tugged lightly, mainly out of curiosity, not expecting anything to happen. Of course, nothing did. Link winced as his skin strained against Maz Koshia’s force. He gave a small grunt.

The monk immediately let go. “Did I hurt you?” he stammered.

Link hung his head, his cheeks burning. He shrunk in on himself. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “I’ve already tried. It won’t come off.”

It went quiet for a moment. “Well… seeing as your very DNA was changed, that doesn’t surprise me,” Maz Koshia finally said, shrugging. “It’s part of your genetic makeup, now. I’m afraid you _are_ stuck with it.”

Link recoiled as if he’d been slapped.

Maz Koshia cringed, only then realizing the impact of his words. Leaning toward Link, he added, “But it’s not _your_ face, Link. It’s his.”

“But he forced it on me, Maz — it’s all I’ve ever known!” Link wheezed. His fingers grasped at his face, feeling for something — something normal. Not _this._ “I-I don’t even remember what I used to look like!”

Link’s words hung over their heads in the heavy air. He shook, digging his nails into his bone mask, gazing into nothing, his eyes glazed over.

Maz Koshia could only stare at him for a painful moment. But eventually, he sighed, his gaze falling into his bony, emaciated hands. “This may sound strange coming from me, but… I know how you feel,” he murmured. “I don’t remember what I looked like, either.”

Link’s head snapped up. He shivered at the newfound agony that swam in Maz Koshia’s eyes. It was a pain that Link had only ever seen in him when he spoke of his fellow fallen monks.

Link leaned back, his jaw dropping. “ _...What?”_ he gasped.

Maz Koshia shrugged. “I spent ten thousand years alone, Link. My body wasted away. But my mind was filled with visions of the past, the future, other people.” He gestured to Link. “Of you. I remember what _you_ used to look like, but not my own face.” He gave a dry snort. “Funny, isn’t it?”

Link gaped at him, his lips parted in a silent gasp. Without needing to be asked, Maz Koshia explained, “You had fair skin. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes. You looked very similar to the hero who slayed Phantom Ganon.” His eyes tightened, his voice hardening almost invisibly. “It’s not a wonder why he would want to change your appearance.”

A shudder raked Link’s spine at Maz Koshia’s words. He struggled to imagine a version of himself that matched Maz Koshia’s description. But he couldn’t. And that horrified him.

He slumped over, tangling his fingers into his red hair. He was so different. So abnormal. So _monstrous._ His eyes stung. Whether that was from exhaustion or from his existential spiral, he had no idea. He didn’t have much of an idea of anything, anymore. He had no idea what to say. How to react. He wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. But his body had hollowed out, his limbs numb. All he could do was sit there, gazing emptily into the floorboards, haunted by the blurry image of someone he never knew.

Maz Koshia’s shoulders sank beneath the weight of Link’s reality. It wasn’t one that he envied. Like Link, he didn’t know what to say. Frustrating as it was, there was nothing presently to be done about his condition — except for press on and hope that vanquishing Calamity Ganon would cleanse him. And, for better or worse, both Link and the monk knew that.

Maz Koshia wrung his hands together, choosing his words wisely. “Link, I... know these past few days have been rough — for you especially,” he breathed. “You’ve had more thrust on your shoulders than anybody I have ever known. And you have every right to be upset. To be scared, to be angry. I will _never_ fault you for that.”

He then reached out, laying a hand on Link’s cheek and bringing his head up, locking their gazes. With a tender smile, he consoled Link, “But you can’t let this ruin you. You can’t let _him_ change you. No matter what. I know that’s… easier said than done...” He continued, slowly, strongly, “But you are not the face you have been given. You are much more than that, and you always will be.”

Link could only stare, his teeth chattering. He wasn’t sure if he could believe that. Not with everything he had learned. What he’d been turned into. But he couldn’t coax his voice out of his throat to say it.

When Link didn’t reply, the monk searched through his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his thumb on Link’s cheek, posing, “Why don’t you go lie down? You’re exhausted.”

Link’s eyelids fluttered as he tried to blink off his shock and fatigue. He shook his head, croaking, “No. Not until we’re finished. Not until he’s out.”

“We’ll have the Slate repaired before the day's end, I guarantee it,” Maz Koshia reassured him. He gestured toward the futons in the corner. “Go. Rest. You need it.”

Link stiffened. His heart began to race for some reason at the monk’s concern for his welfare. He pursed his lips, breathing in bursts through his nose, hot tears welling in his eyes. But he wouldn’t do it. He shook his head again.

A faint frown found Maz Koshia’s lips. He lowered his hand into his lap, murmuring, “That’s just as well, I suppose. I’ll need your help putting the Slate back together, anyway.” Cocking his head, he wondered, “Can I count on you for that, hero?”

Sniffling, Link wiped at his eye with the back of his sludgy wrist. He nodded mutely.

“That’s my boy,” the monk said.

Link melted at that.

It went quiet again for a little while. Maz Koshia eventually rubbed his palms together. “Now, then, how about we…” he said, only to trail off. His ears piqued to the sounds of wet footsteps slapping against the doorstep. He looked to the door before he gave Link as bright of a smile as he could muster, musing, “Would you look at that? Just in time.”

Link turned his head, shooting to his feet. He jumped when the front doors were pushed in, in walking Purah and Symin. Rainwater sloughed off of their coats and hats. Symin struggled with two buckets piled high with an assortment of ancient machine parts. The contents of one of the buckets were completely slathered with Malice, aglow with pinkish light. Link’s Malice twitched at the sight of them.

“We got ‘em!” Purah cried, scampering ahead of Symin.

Maz Koshia gathered to his feet, his face falling with relief. “You did?” He held his chest, breezing, “Oh, thank Hylia...”

Symin nodded. He held up the corrupted parts, chiming in, “The Skywatcher had everything we needed.”

“Excellent,” Maz Koshia beamed, waving them over. “Come on over here, then, let’s have a look.”

Shedding their coats, Purah and Symin made their way to the table with their cargo. Maz Koshia and Link gathered around as Symin set down the buckets. Already, the charred, sickly-sweet stench of the Malice wafted into the air, its undertones exacerbated by the rain. Their noses curled.

Symin covered his face and ensured his gloves were on tight as he reached into the corrupted bucket. He pulled out a series of bizarre-looking objects and held them out for everyone to see.

Link had no idea what to make of them — a handful of flat stone discs no bigger than a thumbnail, a long, wriggly bundle of transparent wires, and a puck-like stone with a glowing crimson core. But the Sheikah knew very well what they were. Maz Koshia’s eyes glittered as he beheld them, though his lips pursed with slight disgust at the sludge coating them.

“Huh,” he mused. “They’re in great condition, all things considered…” He raised his hands. “They’re perfect! Excellent work, you two,” he lauded to Purah and Symin. Their exhaustion waned however briefly, their faces lighting up. Turning to Link, Maz Koshia proposed, “Would you be willing to help put these back into the Slate, Link?”

Link nodded, forcing his voice out, “Of course.”

“Right,” the monk said, looking to the parts of the Sheikah Slate laid out before them. Phantom Ganon frothed with excitement within him, sending a jitter through his bones. “Let’s get to work.”

They each returned to their designated seats. Link made his way to the head of the table, near Maz Koshia. As Purah climbed into her chair, her eyes drifted to the smelting supplies near the doorway.

“Did you guys forge the screen?” she wondered.

“We did,” Maz Koshia replied, gesturing to the kiln. “It’s cooling. Should be ready this evening.”

Her brows rose. “Check it!” she marveled. “That’s awesome!” Her gaze lingered for a moment on the fresh trickle of Malice oozing out of the monk’s eye socket. He noticed her staring, wiping it away. She swallowed, dismissing it. “Let’s put this baby back together, then. We can slip the screen in last. That’s what I did with the Slate Lite.”

Maz Koshia nodded, exchanging a smile with her. His eyes landed on the Slate Lite. It lay at the opposite end of the table, similarly in pieces. “Speaking of,” the monk said. “I could use it for a reference...”

“You got it,” Purah replied, adjusting her glasses.

Finally, the group settled in to reassemble the Sheikah Slate. Phantom Ganon couldn’t have been happier. Maz Koshia and Purah performed the majority of the work, pinging the names of parts back and forth as they gradually pieced together the Sheikah Slate and the Slate Lite simultaneously. Symin followed along, taking notes and jotting down steps, handing Purah tools every so often.

Link hovered near Maz Koshia, where he watched for the most part. He was only able to pitch in much further into their repairs, when they needed to install the corrupted parts. Link worried that, with his sludgy hands, he’d have a less-than-delicate touch, but with some coaching from Maz Koshia, he was able to do his part. His unease from his talk with the monk dissipated somewhat as he felt something akin to pride swell in his chest. He felt like he’d done a bit of good for once.

While the process of reassembling the devices went more smoothly than disassembly, it was still no easy feat. There were an overwhelming number of unique components to fit together just right. As Purah and Maz Koshia buried themselves in their work, the stormy morning blurred into a grey, hazy day. The rain came and went in waves, soaking the lab and Hateno below to the bone.

Before long, the group grew sluggish and hungry, having worked tirelessly from dawn till noon. But now that they were so close, Phantom Ganon wouldn’t allow them respite. He was getting antsy. Maz Koshia’s leg bounced feverishly without his input. They had to keep working. Though unable to properly stop and recuperate, Symin ensured everyone was supplied with honey candies, bread, and a veritable lake of coffee.

And so it went, when, at last — at long, tiresome last — Maz Koshia locked the last piece of the Sheikah Slate’s hardware into place. Pausing, he flexed his aching fingers before picking up the solid brick of machinery, turning it over in his hands for a moment. He then laid it by the stony housing of the Slate.

His eyes flickered to Purah, who had reached a similar juncture with the Slate Lite. “I think we’ve done it,” he said, nodding.

Purah returned his nod. “I think so, too.”

Link’s eyes devoured the Sheikah Slate. It looked rather naked outside of its casing. His stomach fluttered. “Now what?” he wondered, breathless.

Maz Koshia took in a slow breath, endeavoring to ignore Phantom Ganon’s nauseating anticipation. He turned his head toward the kiln, shrugging. “...I suppose we can check to see if the screen is ready? Though, I doubt it will be...”

Link was already swiveling on his heel, making a break for the kiln in the wall. He stooped down slightly to get a better look inside it. He had high hopes for a moment, as the glass’ glow had faded considerably. But heat still radiated off of it, warming his face.

Link shook his head, stammering, “I don’t think it’s ready yet.”

Maz Koshia’s lungs shriveled at Link’s words. He snatched a handkerchief out of his pocket and wheezed into it. Everyone’s faces drained at his reaction. Hoping that a double-check of the screen’s progress might help, Purah leapt off her chair and scurried over to the kiln.

But she came up with the same verdict as Link. She turned back to Maz Koshia, confirming tinily, “It needs a few more hours.”

Maz Koshia tensed up, but ultimately shrugged it off. “That’s fine — that’s fine,” he grunted, wiping at his mouth. Whether that was him or Phantom Ganon talking was unclear. With a long sigh, he continued, “A few more hours. That’s all. We’ll just have to wait.”

Raising his head, the monk peered, bleary-eyed, through the open doorway. It was a little after noon, the sunlight steely as it struggled through the clouds. The rain had lightened to a drizzle. Maz Koshia turned back to the table, leaning over the tabletop and rubbing his face with his hands. He then got to his feet, swaying ever so slightly, before he looked to his companions.

Though they were all in somewhat of a daze, they woke up slightly when the monk announced, “Why don’t we all take a break? I’ll drum up some lunch. My treat.”

Symin shot up from his chair. “What? No, Maz, I can cook — let me do it.”

The monk raised a hand, politely refusing. “It’s all right, Symin. I want to. You three need to rest.”

“So do you, Maz,” Link protested.

But the monk wouldn’t have it, shaking his head again. “I rested for ten thousand years, Link.” A weary smile spread across his face. “The least I can do is cook a meal for my friends.” He shooed them away, urging, “Go on, now. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” His gaze ultimately lingered on Link’s Malice. “We… need to talk. All of us.”

Link, Purah, and Symin exchanged stiff gazes, their brows low. Link’s Malice tingled. Yet, against their better judgement, they obeyed the monk. Purah and Symin trudged upstairs to their rooms.

Link lingered for a moment, looking about the lab, not sure where to retire. He found himself grimacing at the state of the place. It looked like a hurricane had torn through it, papers choking the floor, boxes and spare parts clogging the sparse walking space. Scattered mugs, plates, and parts. Dried blood and Malice here and there.

He shivered when an errant breath of wind brushed against his neck, bringing his head toward the open doorway. He didn’t care that it was raining. He needed some air.

Shuffling outside, Link stood under the awning on the porch. He stared, bleary-eyed, out over the ocean sprawling beyond the clifftop. The longer he stood, the more his mind tried to wander into dark places. But he didn’t dare think about his inevitable reunion with Phantom Ganon, the worrying amount of Malice that Maz Koshia was coughing up, the impending dread of the Blood Moon. He couldn’t bear it. It all only made his stomach slither into knots.

But thankfully for his battered psyche, his mind had gone almost comatose thanks to the pitiful amount of sleep he hadn’t gotten. His thoughts unraveled into nothing more than meandering strings of nonsense, fizzling into the haze clouding his skull. He swayed on the porch, his head spinning, eyelids drooping.

He honestly had no idea how long he stood out there. It was the low whine of a door creaking open that shocked him out of his stupor. Link jerked his head over his shoulder to find Maz Koshia standing in the doorway, bearing a wooden stool and a wok filled with ingredients.

“May I join you?” the monk asked.

Link’s heavy eyelids fluttered. “Yeah,” he replied, stepping aside.

The monk set down the stool near Link, patting it a few times, inviting him to sit down. Link didn’t refuse it. He was too bone tired. He collapsed onto the stool. Once he was settled, Maz Koshia tucked some honey candy into his hand. A drawling, mumbled, “Thanks,” stumbled through Link’s lips before he popped it into his mouth. The monk then laid down the wok onto the furnace’s receptacle, set aside his ingredients, and drizzled some oil into it.

Neither of them spoke as he cooked. The monk was submerged in thought; Link teetered on the verge of passing out. As Link’s eyelids sagged shut, he listened to the sizzle of the oil gradually burble into the rolling boil of broth. Whatever Maz Koshia was making cooked quickly, thanks to the intense heat of the furnace. Before long, Link was slumped against the doorway and the candy in his mouth had long dissolved.

Maz Koshia didn’t want to move him, but he knew he had to. The next thing Link knew, the monk giving him a gentle shake to rouse him. He helped Link to his feet and they walked back into the lab together.

Link briskly shook his head to wake himself up. Maz Koshia had cleared some of the clutter on and around the table, giving them room to eat. A warm, earthy, salty aroma hovered over the table, laden with half a loaf of bread, four bowls, spoons, and drinking glasses. The wok sat in the center of it all, filled with a creamy, taupe soup, thick chunks of mushrooms and flecks of herbs swimming in it.

The monk must have called Purah and Symin down while Link was dozing, for they arrived not long after. Symin had changed out of his singed pants and bandaged his burn, and they had both shed their coats.

They all settled down at the table. Maz Koshia gave his chair to Link, opting to kneel — he was tall enough to reach his bowl without one. After serving everybody, the monk gestured to the food, ordering them gently, “Eat. Then we’ll talk.”

They did so in swift silence, shoveling the soup into their mouths like hounds. Had Link been less anxious, he would have enjoyed his meal better. But a rock formed in his gut alongside it. He had a dark notion as to what Maz Koshia wanted to talk about. It sent a shudder through his Malice.

Once everyone’s bowls were scraped clean, they turned their gazes on the monk. No one spoke for a moment as they awaited his words. He wiped away some Malice from his eye and laced his fingers together on the tabletop, exhaling.

When he eventually spoke, his voice was rigid with worry. “Right. Well, as you all know,” he began. “The Sheikah Slate will be repaired soon, and Phantom Ganon will be free of me.” Everyone tensed. Ignoring even the spirit’s stirrings, Maz Koshia continued, “That leaves us with our… next engagement.” He looked each of them in the eye. “We need to have a serious talk about the Blood Moon.”

Link stiffened, his face twitching. He knew it. Purah and Symin both snuck fleeting, wide-eyed glances at Link, but he didn’t notice.

Frowning, Maz Koshia went on, “We only have forty-two hours remaining until it rises.” He brandished his hands. “For the moment, we need to talk about what we can expect. And what may or may not come to pass.” His gaze, too, trailed to Link.

Link’s scalp prickled with heat beneath everyone’s gazes. He thrust his arms under the table, trying to control the throbbing of his Malice as the monk explained, “Strictly speaking, the lunar eclipse will last roughly five hours from beginning to end. But we will only be able to see the Blood Moon itself — and thus see its effects — during totality. Around midnight. For one hour.”

A pang of fear stung Link’s stomach. His weary brain bled with blurry images of crimson skies. But he prayed it was only his imagination and not another burst of memory.

Squirming in his chair, Link breathed, “...What’ll happen during totality, Maz?”

The monk’s expression hardened. “The moon will become red as blood. By its glow, Calamity Ganon’s power will grow,” he replied grimly. Link choked, backing into his chair. Fist clenching, Maz Koshia added, “It reaches its peak under the hour of the Blood Moon. And beneath its rays, the aimless spirits of beasts slain in the name of the light... will return to flesh.”

Link recoiled as his Malice gave a distinct lurch. He bored his fingers into his sludgy arms, his teeth chattering. “Wh-what does that have to do with me…?” he breathed. “What’ll happen to me?”

But, as before, Maz Koshia hadn’t the faintest idea. His ignorance was driving him mad. He shook his head, his teeth clenching. “I don’t know, Link. In all my years… I’ve never seen anything like your infection. We have no idea how you might react under a Blood Moon.” He twitched as though someone were hissing in his ear. His fists clenched on the tabletop. “And, conveniently, our spirit isn’t telling,” he growled.

A scowl seized Link’s brow, his fear of the unknown abruptly souring into irritation. “...What about the training he promised?” he wondered flatly.

Maz Koshia brought his gaze to him, his lip curling in a snarl. His red eye glittered. “He still intends on showing you, as he puts it, _perfect mastery of your Malice.”_ His voice then gained a mocking edge as he added, “But he doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Maz Koshia suddenly sucked in a sharp gasp, his hand flying to his chest. Phantom Ganon hadn’t appreciated his tone. Everyone jumped and leaned forward slightly, ready for another attack. But thankfully, that was all it came to — a warning punch in the lungs.

The monk took a moment or two to draw in a few breaths through his teeth. After swallowing a barrage of insults aimed at the spirit, he finally shook his head, grumbling, “But it doesn’t do to dwell on what we don’t know. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He sighed, returning his gaze to Link. "But no matter what happens — whether anything does or not — I want to monitor you. I want to run regular analyses.”

Link’s brows furrowed. “But h-how will that work?” he stammered. “During the Blood Moon, if Phantom Ganon still wants to train me? What if he won’t let us?”

“We’ll make it work,” the monk replied, his voice taking on a snarl. “I don’t care if I have to break the Slate again. _We’ll make it work.”_

For a moment, Link wasn’t sure who he was talking to — them or Phantom Ganon. Again, the group tensed, waiting for something to happen. Some outburst from the spirit. But none came. All he did was smirk, though Maz Koshia couldn’t see or feel it.

Maz Koshia blinked rapidly for a few seconds, stunned by the spirit’s lack of reaction. Ultimately, he shrugged it off, his anxiety at the upcoming Blood Moon and his distaste for the spirit guiding his reason. He figured he had finally stricken him speechless. But he was woefully wrong.

Turning to Purah, he asked, “Would you be willing to let me borrow the Slate Lite for that, Director?”

Purah had flushed paler, but she nevertheless agreed. “P-please, by all means.”

“Anything you need, Maz,” Symin added.

“Thank you very much,” Maz Koshia said.

Link couldn’t help but stir a little at that prospect. He hadn’t exactly enjoyed being analyzed. But he had no idea what he was in for when the Blood Moon rose. Though the thought nevertheless unnerved him, he’d just have to grin and bear it.

When Maz Koshia caught the faint look of panic on Link’s face, he added, “Don’t worry, Link. Nothing... invasive. The Guidance Stone’s test should be sufficient. Are you comfortable with that?”

Link nodded. “That’s fine. I can do that.”

The monk smiled. “Excellent. Then it seems we have a plan.”

The lab fell quiet for a moment or two, conversation faltering. Maz Koshia’s eye wandered from the partially-deconstructed Sheikah Slate and to the open doorway. By that point, it was barely midafternoon. He frowned, twisting his head back toward the kiln. He doubted the screen had cooled enough within the last hour or so.

He pursed his lips. “In the meantime, it looks like we have some time to kill.” He raised his hands, shrugging. “I suppose we’ll rendezvous around sunset, then?”

Link, Purah, and Symin met each other’s gazes. Mute nods bounced around the table.

And so they waited.

But waiting proved more agonizing than they anticipated. As the day dragged on — and Goddesses above, did it _drag —_ they each tried to busy themselves with something. Though their eyes drooped, they couldn’t sleep. Maz Koshia dumped nearly a dozen pages-worth of his thoughts into a notebook. Symin cleaned as though his life depended on it. Link bent over a washtub in the corner in his shorts and undershirt, scrubbing his tunic. Purah sat beside him, a needle and thread in her little hands, stitching together the tears Phantom Ganon’s spear had wrought on Link’s trousers.

But their distractions weren’t enough to stave off their collective anxiety. It suffocated the air like a miasma, building with each passing hour. And Phantom Ganon joyed in their agony. He, too, was eager to have the Slate fully repaired; Maz Koshia could feel it frothing in his veins.

Throughout the day and into early evening, they each unconsciously wandered over to the kiln. It was only when the lab grew considerably darker that the four of them immediately met gazes from where they had settled in the lab. The light outside was changing; the warm glow of the lab became more pronounced in the inky blue half-light. Everyone’s heads flew toward the far wall. Without saying a word, they scrambled to their feet and stampeded over to the kiln.

“Is it ready…?” Link breathed.

Maz Koshia gave him a fearful glance. “Let’s see…”

Link, Purah, and Symin watched with bated breath as Maz Koshia slid his hand into the kiln, removing the mold. It was cool to the touch. A thin sheet of transparent glass reflected the lights of the lab as they studied it. Swallowing, the monk carefully placed his free hand atop the glass and flipped over the mold. He slowly separated them.

And there, resting on his palm, was the screen. It was perfectly flat and transparent, precisely sized and fitted for the Sheikah Slate.

The steel mold thudded to the floor, making everyone but Maz Koshia jolt. But he didn’t care. He only had one thing on his mind. He began to breathe heavily, pivoting on his heel and darting to the central table. He moved with the haste of a man possessed. Link, Purah, and Symin followed after him, crowding around him as he fumbled for the waiting pieces of the Sheikah Slate.

No one said a word as the monk eased the screen onto the Slate’s hardware. He then fed the ensemble into the device’s stony casing, slipping the gripped handle into place and locking everything shut with a _click._ Shuddering, he held up the completed device. It looked almost exactly as it had before Link had stabbed it. But its lights were dark. It didn’t appear to be functioning.

Link broke out in a sweat just looking at it. “What now?! I-Is it working?!” he wheezed.

“Almost…” Maz Koshia breathed, eyes wide. His head jerked toward the Guidance Stone. He didn’t waste any time sprinting over to it, his three companions close behind. In his rush, he cracked his shin on the raised stage, but he couldn’t have cared less.

He limped onto the stage, his ribs rattling as he inserted the Sheikah Slate into the Guidance Stone’s pedestal. The device tucked into the dock, rotating and settling into the pedestal’s heart. Registering the Slate’s inactivity, the Guidance Stone automatically booted up its recharge sequence. Everyone’s gazes flew from the Slate to the Guidance Stone as it began to breathe with sapphire light. It trickled down the stone stalactite, gathering at its tip before splashing onto the Slate’s newly-forged screen.

The device was rejuvenated instantaneously. But, to everyone’s unease, its lights remained a vibrant crimson, just as before.

Now more curious than anxious, Maz Koshia took up the device, turning it over in his hands. Squinting, he flicked through its interfaces, from the map to its Runes. There didn’t appear to be anything amiss with it. Even the new Runes that Phantom Ganon had programmed into it were still installed — a fact that made his lungs burn.

Blinking, he cocked his head, mumbling, “Everything seems to be in order…” Something stirred inside him at that, but he was too distracted by the Slate to pay it much heed. He turned to face his companions, his eyes widening. “I think we did it.”

“Really?” Link gasped.

The monk ran a quick test just to make sure. Opening the Rune interface, he tapped on the _Magnesis_ Rune. The Slate flashed with stark red light, making Link jump. He watched with awe as Maz Koshia commanded the Rune to take hold of a metal spoon drying on a cloth on the table. A lasso of crackling, magnetic blue energy poured out of the Slate and latched onto the spoon. Link couldn’t believe his eyes when the spoon began to hover over the table at Maz Koshia’s command.

The spoon fell to the table as Maz Koshia deactivated the Rune. A broad smile of relief spread across his face, just as with his companions. “Perfectly functional,” he breathed. “We did it!”

But the monk had no sooner said this when he took in a sharp gasp, doubling over. He tried to grasp at his chest — his ribs had given a painful series of creaks — but his hands were clamped around the Sheikah Slate without his control. Head swimming, he stumbled toward the wall, only to lurch forward when something shoved him from within. A grunt of agony tore out of him.

Eyes bulging, Link, Purah, and Symin flew to his aid. “Maz?! Maz, what’s — ” Link tried to say.

But he never got the chance to finish his sentence before Maz Koshia’s body gave a sickening twist. He was thrown against the wall as Phantom Ganon exploded out of his chest. The monk sunk to the floor, blacking out for a moment. Link threw himself to his knees at his side, but his attention was quickly stolen.

Upon gaining his freedom, Phantom Ganon snatched the Sheikah Slate from Maz Koshia. He flew across the lab before crashing onto the table and skidding across it, scattering tools, dishes and spare parts, before tumbling face-first into the floor. But he didn’t seem to mind. He flopped to his back, beaming at the Sheikah Slate in his hands.

A bubbly stream of laughter burst out of him. “FINALLY!” he cried. “Out of that prison! Oh, I’ll never let anything happen to you again! I promise...”

Had the spirit had lips, he would have peppered the device with kisses. Instead, he nuzzled it against his jaw, cuddling it and relishing in it. He gave a shuddery gasp of delight when the chains of his shackles re-materialized into existence on his wrists, ankles, and neck. Finally, he was whole again.

But Phantom Ganon abruptly paused, remembering that he had company. He sat up, slowly easing himself to his feet before turning and facing his audience. Link, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin had all gone stiff as stone, beholding the spirit’s rapture with disturbed dread.

Phantom Ganon’s eye glittered, landing on his master. Inspecting the Sheikah Slate for a moment, the spirit grinned, slowly prowling around the table toward them. Link flew to his feet, stepping in front of the three Sheikah, his blazing eyes never leaving the spirit.

“Well, well, well,” Phantom Ganon began lightly. “That was fun, wasn’t it? I hope you’ve come to an understanding, Master — of how much you need this device,” he mused, waving the Slate. Link’s Malice twitched.

“...Of how much you need _me,”_ Phantom Ganon added. Climbing the raised stage, he slunk up to Link, standing against him till their bodies touched. The spirit angled his face down toward Link’s, locking their gazes. “I trust that, in the future, we won’t have any more…” He slipped the Sheikah Slate onto Link’s belt, purring, “ _...accidents?”_

Link didn’t even flinch against Phantom Ganon’s advances. He glared up at him, growling, “Not unless you _really_ piss me off.”

A grin took the spirit’s jaw; his eye shimmered. “I’ll have to be on my best behavior, then,” he cooed. Turning to the three Sheikah, he gave a theatrical cringe, rearing his chin back. “Good God, you all look like _corpses,”_ he recoiled. He then snuck a glance at Maz Koshia, adding with a giggle, “Pun very much intended.”

Maz Koshia was not amused. He growled under his breath, his hands rolling into fists.

After taking a moment to snicker to himself, Phantom Ganon sauntered before his company, looking them each in the eye. He rather enjoyed Purah and Symin’s cowering. Sighing, he mused, “Well, corpse or not, if I were any of you, I’d get some sleep.” He turned toward Link, waltzing back to him. “Especially you, Master. You have a big day tomorrow. You’ll need to be in tip-top shape for it.”

Link’s teeth ground. “I already told you — I don’t want any part of this!”

But Link’s outright refusal didn’t phase the spirit. He cocked his head, crooning, “Aww, don’t be like that. Trust me, you want this. You _need_ this.” He pointed to the pulsating Malice on Link’s arms, luring, “It’ll help you get rid of _that,_ for starters. You want that, don’t you?”

Link stared into his sludgy hands, his breath quickening. He _did_ need that. He couldn’t live with this poison on his arms for the rest of his life. “Show me how,” he demanded, taking a step forward.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” the spirit hushed, laying a finger on Link’s lips. Link reeled with horror, slapping his hand away. His defiance only drove the spirit more wild. With a manic grin, he said, “I know you’re excited, but not until tomorrow night. You’ll just have to be patient…”

Without further insight, Phantom Ganon stepped away, wiggling his fingers at Link in farewell. “See you then,” he purred, vanishing in a breath of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the second day…
> 
> This chapter was a bit of a cooldown chapter compared to the previous one. Less action, but I hope it was interesting, regardless. I actually had a ton of fun exploring how the Sheikah would have forged the parts of the Sheikah Slate, and studying glassmaking and tech was a cool little bonus. Hope you found it as interesting as I did! XD
> 
> I also hope that the emotional scenes aren’t too much. I’m trying to really delve into each characters’ psyche and let them play off each other in a (hopefully) natural, realistic way. If you think I should tone down some emotional elements, please let me know. I want to give you the best reading experience possible, and I welcome critiques and suggestions. :)
> 
> As for what’s next… Our team’s a little worse for wear after all this. And it seems Phantom Ganon got what he wanted. But what else does he want? Let’s just hope that when the third day comes, our little group won’t meet with a terrible fate…
> 
> I suppose we’ll just have to see. Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> See you next chapter!


	22. The Skeleton Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya-ha-ha! Corrupted Hero is back, baby! 
> 
> Gosh, I deeply apologize for the huge delay. But I got into a bit of a funk, had a couple virus scares, started school again, and all in all just hated everything I was writing. But I’ve gotten over my slump (with a little help from some good books and playing a lot of Age of Calamity), and finally got back in the swing of things. Yay!
> 
> With that, may I present chapter 22 of Corrupted Hero — I hope it was worth the wait. Here, we deal with some aftermath of the spirit’s antics, as well as our group looking forward to the upcoming Blood Moon. So exciting!
> 
> Before I go, I just want to thank you all, new and long-time readers, for your support and patience. This story means a lot to me, and I’m glad it’s getting some traction. You inspire me, and I hope I can continue to entertain you.
> 
> With that, read on! This update is nice and long, just for you. ;) Enjoy!

Before he could stifle it, a burst of furious panic sent Link tearing after Phantom Ganon. Eyes alight, he stormed off the stage, one hand outstretched, reaching for where the spirit had vanished. Phantom Ganon couldn’t just leave him with that again — that cunning, borderline-maddening lure that he always dangled in front of his face. Like he was his _dog._ It was absolutely infuriating. And Link had had just about enough.

“Phantom!? Get back here!” Link roared, his voice shattering the suffocating silence. “You can’t just — !”

But Link choked mid-sentence. He ground to a halt, his spine locking up when a spike of bitter cold pierced his lower back. Like a creeping fog, a strange sensation flowed over his spine, seeping into his muscles, his blood, his bones, saturating him. A shudder ripped through him as whatever-it-was crawled up his neck and slipped into his skull, coiling around his brain like a snake.

For a moment, Link’s heart stampeded with terror — he had no idea what was happening to him. He could barely move. Whatever-this-was had stung his brain with paralysis. But then it hit him like a lightning strike. This sensation… it was somewhat familiar. He realized with a rush of horror that had felt this before.

But that meant — ?!

Sucking in a gasp, Link clamped his hands over his temples and crashed to his knees, jerking his head against a familiar voice that slithered between his ears.

_Can’t just what?_ Phantom Ganon wondered. _Leave you?_ His voice, deep and darkly ardent, filled every crevice of Link’s mind, numbing his brain. Cooing, the spirit continued, _Aww, don’t worry, Master, I could never leave you. I’m right here. Always will be._

Link’s shoulders suddenly sank as if the spirit was draping his arms around him. The hairs on the nape of Link’s neck shot up, his teeth chattering as Phantom Ganon purred, _Tell me, did you miss me terribly?_

Link’s paralysis lifted slightly at the spirit’s words, his brow twisting. Miss him? _Miss him?!_ Perish the thought! Link hadn’t missed this. He _hated_ this. Goddesses above, he hated _every_ _second_ of this. It made his skin crawl, his blood boil. He wanted to scream in Phantom Ganon’s face, to thrash and flail, but the spirit’s embrace was nothing short of paralytic.

Fortunately, Link’s abject revulsion wrenched him out of Phantom Ganon’s hold. Snarling, Link gave a ferocious jerk, doubling over. Through gritted teeth, he glowered into the floor and drilled his fingers into his hair, desperate to push out the spirit’s affections.

“G-get out of my head,” Link spat under his breath.

A momentary pause. Remarkably, the spirit obeyed — somewhat. Link gasped with relief as Phantom Ganon pulled back, the weight on his shoulders easing. But a chuckle echoed through Link’s skull, rattling his spine

_You missed me,_ Phantom Ganon crooned. _Ahh, it’s good to be back._

Link stared blankly into the floor as the spirit’s voice dissipated. He swallowed, struggling to regain control of himself; he was shaking from head to toe, his temples, palms, and underarms damp. His body felt heavier for some reason, even without the spirit leaning on him, his blood frothing as it shot through his veins. Good Goddess, what had Phantom Ganon done to him?

Link knew exactly what. Though it horrified him to admit it, he had indeed felt this… _intrusion,_ before. Back at the lake. It was as familiar as it was unnerving.

But, familiar as it was, something was different about this time. Something uncanny. Phantom Ganon hadn’t barged into Link’s mind like he had before. No, he had _sauntered_ inside, settling down and getting comfortable — as if he was coming home and kicking up his feet.

As Link knelt there, disturbed by Phantom Ganon’s resurgence, a grim reality crept into his mind like poison. For better or worse — and he had no idea which — their efforts had been a success. They had done what the spirit wanted; they had fixed the Sheikah Slate, freed him from Maz Koshia. And though he couldn’t presently see Phantom Ganon, Link nevertheless shuddered at the knowledge that he was back in their midst — back inside his head.

Until that moment, Link hadn’t realized just how peaceful — how _roomy,_ even — his mind had been in the spirit’s absence. But no longer. Now, there was a distinct shadow lurking in the back of his mind, an added weight on his hip. Truly, Link hadn’t appreciated his solace until it was gone. And he had a sinking feeling he would never get it back.

The notion haunted him for a moment, but he didn’t dwell on it for very long. From the stage, Purah, Symin, and Maz Koshia watched his reunion with Phantom Ganon with slack-jawed dread. Purah and Symin exchanged a wild-eyed glance. Though they hadn’t the faintest idea of what was happening, they nevertheless flew to Link’s aid, scrambling off the stage and crying out for him.

But Maz Koshia had an inkling as to what was going on. The mere thought filled him to the brim with disgust. That wretched spirit — that _parasite —_ cozied up inside Link’s head.

The monk’s spine stiffened against the wall, his nose wrinkling. If Link’s experience was anything like his own — a cacophony of hissing insults, headaches, black sarcasm and contempt — then he wouldn’t tolerate it. Not for a second. That was the last thing Link needed. As Purah and Symin dashed off the stage for Link, Maz Koshia attempted to follow, inflamed and raring to tear into Phantom Ganon.

But the monk only managed to gather to his knees before a firestorm of sharp, scalding pain tore through his chest. Maz Koshia crumbled to the stage with a strangled grunt, his hands flying to his side. His face drained when his fingers met the rugged edges of several shattered ribs straining against his skin. He sucked in a gasp, only for his breath to catch and ignite in his lungs, plunging him into a heavy, guttural coughing fit.

Purah and Symin skidded to a stop near Link; the three of them gave a collective jolt, whirling around. Link’s heart plunged into his stomach at the sight of Maz Koshia, curled into a foetal ball and hacking up droplets of Malice onto the floor. On his hip, the Sheikah Slate watched with dark delight.

Link’s shock instantly rotted into caustic horror. “ _Oh, no,”_ he breathed. Barely even looking at Purah and Symin, Link launched to his feet and broke into a sprint for the stage, the two Sheikah hot on his heels.

In Link’s haste, he caught his toe on the lip of the stage — his breakneck speed drove him flat onto his face. His mouth tanged with blood as his lip split against the floorboards, but he hardly registered it. No, he clambered back up and to Maz Koshia’s side as if nothing had happened. A bit of blood was the least of his problems.

Knelt beside Maz Koshia, Link reached out to try and soothe him. But he caught himself, his eyes falling on the pulsating sludge slathering his hands. Link’s heart crushed; he knew that if he so much as grazed Maz Koshia’s skin, he would burn him. As much as Link ached to help, he didn’t dare touch the monk. All he could do was watch.

Purah and Symin quickly joined them. While Symin scrambled around them to try and stabilize Maz Koshia instead, Purah leaned before Link’s face, eying the blood dribbling down his chin.

“Y-you okay?” she asked.

“’m fine.” Link mumbled, brushing her off. Squirming, he pressed his palms against the stage, leaning toward Maz Koshia as he continued to fight to breathe. “Maz — Maz?!” Link urged above his coughing. “C’mon, Maz!”

The monk, in the throes of a cough, could only respond by nodding. But Symin, his hand on the monk’s back, swiveled his head, breathing to Link and Purah, “Hang on, he’s coming around.”

Sure enough, the monk’s fit soon began to peter out — thank the goddess. With a grimace, Maz Koshia gave one final, chunky cough before drawing in a raspy breath through his teeth. He held his side, grunting and pinching his eyes shut against the suffocating pain garroting his chest.

“Ngh…” he mumbled, his voice gritty. “D-damn that ghost…!” His brow pinched. “I should’ve known he’d pull something like this...”

Link’s heart stuttered, both at Maz Koshia’s words, and the subsequent flash of heat that burst from the Sheikah Slate.

_Knows me so well, doesn't he?_ Phantom Ganon snickered.

Link’s hand flew to the Sheikah Slate, a glare seizing his brow. But he didn’t give it any more thought. The monk was far more important. But what exactly had Phantom Ganon pulled?

“Maz, are you all right?!” Link wheezed, surging forward.

The monk grunted again in response, giving a heavy nod. “I-I’m fine…”

But Link was wholly unconvinced. He ran his bulging eyes over the monk — he was still curled up, gripping his side, his breath hot and shallow.

“ _Fine?!”_ Link echoed. “You were possessed a second ago! That…” he trailed off, his mind bleeding with flashes of the sickening twist the monk’s body had given before the spirit freed himself. Squirming, Link finished, “...That looked like it hurt.”

To their shock, Maz Koshia reiterated, “I’ll be fine — really. But I think...” He cut off, sucking in a hiccoughed gasp. “I think Phantom Ganon… kn-knocked something loose…”

He then lifted his hands, revealing his rib cage to them. It was malformed and crumpled, bits of his ribs nearly piercing his skin. But that was nowhere near the worst of it. A large chunk of the monk’s rib cage moved paradoxically from his brisk, agonized breaths; it sunk into his chest when he inhaled, and pushed out when he exhaled, as if something inside him was trying to claw its way out.

Link’s eyes bugged, horror goring his stomach. He had no idea what he was looking at. But even then, it didn’t take him nor Purah and Symin long to realize that something was grossly wrong with Maz Koshia.

“Oh — ! Oh my goddess…!” Purah squeaked, clamping her hands over her mouth.

In spite of his wounds, the monk continued to try to downplay the situation, grunting, “Must’ve broken off… when he left… But it’s all right. We’ll j-just need some glue…”

“ _Glue?!”_ Link choked.

Symin’s jaw dropped. He began to shake his head wildly. “Forget the glue — we need to take a look at you _right now.”_ He grabbed Maz Koshia’s shoulder and motioned for Link to do the same, urging him, “Link, help me with him — we have to get him under the Guidance Stone — _now!”_

Symin’s dire tone sent a shock into Link’s blood. He had only been this tense after Link had broken Maz Koshia’s neck. Feeling suddenly nauseous, Link nodded, shuffling forward and casting his arms out, ready to assist. But something stopped him. His gaze again lingered on his shaking, slimy hands.

Link swallowed. “Hang on, I-I need gloves.” He knew exactly where he could find some.

“Let me grab the Slate Lite,” Purah added.

“Take your time…” Maz Koshia murmured, firming his grip on his side. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Despite the monk’s dismissiveness, Link knew he couldn’t waste a second. Without another word, he shot to his feet and doubled back for the table at the heart of the lab. Purah followed after him, her sights set on the Slate Lite. It was on the table as well; she would need it to run an analysis on Maz Koshia.

But the pair only made it as far as the edge of the stage when something caught their eyes. Rather, some _one._

They found Phantom Ganon reclined in a chair, his feet kicked up on the table. He wore a pair of smelter’s gloves as he fiddled with the Slate Lite. The device was comically small in his hands. Tapping its screen, he cocked his head and held it out at arm’s-length before his face, whereupon a faint _click_ sounded. Lowering it back into his lap, he inspected the screen, grinning to himself.

“Ooh, that’s a keeper,” he hummed.

Link stopped cold. The sight of the spirit immediately dissolved the horror stewing in his blood into something else. Something feral. Link grimaced as his Malice gave a heavy _thump,_ lurching his body forward. The three Sheikah beside him stiffened, eyeing his Malice nervously.

“Link…” Maz Koshia cautioned.

But Link couldn’t hear him. Not with Phantom Ganon there — the mere sight of him sent his pulse howling in his ears. Maz Koshia’s horrific wounds… it was all the spirit’s fault. And he was just _sitting_ there. Link wanted to scream. But as much as he was baying to tackle the spirit out of his chair and rip his eye out, some semblance of control held him back. Link didn’t have time to pick a fight — not now, anyway. He had to get the Slate Lite from Phantom Ganon. He had to help Maz Koshia.

Throwing himself off the stage, Link surged toward the spirit, demanding, “You! What are you doing?!”

The spirit casually turned his head, musing, “Who, me?”

Link’s eyes flashed. “YES, YOU!” he bellowed, stomping up to greet the spirit. “What are you doing?!”

Though a faint grin glinted on his fangs, the spirit remained unphased by the venom in Link’s voice. Shrugging a shoulder, he returned his attention to the Slate Lite, lazily flicking through its interface.

“I tell you, I just can’t seem to take a good picture with this thing,” he sighed. He shook his head, brushing a thumb along his jawbone. “Not that I blame myself — I mean, look at me, I’m gorgeous — it’s this thing’s crappy camera...” Angling the device toward Link, he wondered, “But what do you think?”

Link’s eyes immediately flew to it. His lip curled when he found a collection of self-portraits of Phantom Ganon on the screen. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. But he didn’t give a damn. The spirit was only wasting his time. And he had a feeling that was just his aim.

Teeth gritting, Link lunged forward to rip the Slate Lite out of the spirit’s hands, spitting, “Give me that!”

But Phantom Ganon moved it out of his reach, thrusting his palm against Link’s chest. “Why?” he wondered, cocking his head. “What could you possibly need this piece of junk for?”

“Hey!” Purah whimpered.

Link reached for the Slate Lite again, hissing, “We need to run a scan on Maz! Give it back!”

Scoffing, Phantom Ganon rolled his eye and flung aside the Slate Lite before Link could grab it. The device clattered across the table and onto the floor, garnering another squeak from Purah.

“No!” Link cried, flinging his arm out.

Easing his feet off the table, the spirit stood, sneering, “You won’t be needing that.”

Link glared at the Slate Lite where it lay. He didn’t have time for this. _Maz Koshia_ didn’t have time for this. Growling, Link attempted to skirt around the spirit after the Slate Lite.

But Phantom Ganon caught him by the ponytail, wrenching him backward and throwing him into the chair. As it rocked beneath him, Link struggled to get up for a moment, only to stiffen. He shrunk into the chair, endeavoring to hide the shiver that raked his spine as Phantom Ganon towered over him.

Grinning down upon his master, the spirit stooped and plucked the Sheikah Slate off of Link’s belt, making him flinch. He then leaned into Link’s face and held the device out to him, luring, “All you need is in here, Master.”

Link’s heart murmured in his chest. His gaze flickered between the Sheikah Slate and Phantom Ganon. “Wh-what do you mean?” he breathed.

The spirit’s eye glittered with something Link didn’t have a name for. “It’s been a long time since I’ve inhabited a body,” Phantom Ganon began. His words sent a curdle through Link’s blood. The spirit gestured his head toward Maz Koshia. “Before I left, I wanted to... commemorate the occasion. Go ahead, have a look inside. _I’ve_ got a much better camera.”

Against his better judgement, Link inspected the Sheikah Slate’s screen, his stomach churning. At first glance, he had no idea what he was looking at. A full-body wireframe model of Maz Koshia occupied the screen, headlined with his name. Link’s brows furrowed when he ran his eyes over several bright amber markers on the monk’s model, highlighting his neck, lungs, stomach, and rib cage. The markers coincided with a block of text on the screen’s margin, riddled with medical jargon.

Link had never seen anything like it. But as his brain scrambled to make sense of it, he slowly realized that he was looking at a comprehensive scan that Phantom Ganon had done of Maz Koshia. And it was… rather thorough. Link wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or disturbed.

But something wasn’t right. Phantom Ganon was never this helpful — especially when it came to Maz Koshia. What was he up to? Hylia only knew if Link could believe whatever data was on that cursed Sheikah Slate. Both he and the Sheikah in the room knew that very well.

Link backed into the chair, shaking his head. “No — n-no, I can’t trust you — ”

“Why not?” Phantom Ganon contested. “I’ve been in there. I know _exactly_ what’s wrong with him.” Clamping a hand on Link’s shoulder, the spirit forced the Sheikah Slate into his face, re-emphasising, “It’s all in here. Take it, Master. I’m only trying to help.”

“No, you’re not!” Link fired back, squirming. “You don’t care about Maz! You only care about yourself!”

The spirit seemed hurt by that. “Come now, that’s not true. I care about _you.”_ He trailed his hand up, thumbing the blood off of Link’s lip, purring, “More than you’ll ever know…”

Link jerked away, crying, “Stop it! I know you aren’t doing this for him. Why are you helping us?! Tell me the truth!”

The spirit paused. If he could blink, he would have. Instead, he snuck a glance to Maz Koshia, sighing, “Look, as much as I _love_ watching him writhe, he’s a distraction.” Refocusing on Link, he added, “I need you well-rested, focused, for tomorrow — not mewling over his welfare.” The spirit’s eye then glowed like a hot coal as he waved the Sheikah Slate in Link’s face. “Follow the data I have, and with a little glue, he’ll be right as rain in no time. Now, do you want to help him or not?”

Unblinking, Link’s gaze traveled from the Sheikah Slate and to Maz Koshia. Clinging to his side, the monk watched on with dread, his face wracked with agony. Link could hear his quick, stuttered gasps from where he sat. Link had never seen him like this. Powerful as the monk was, he needed help. And he needed it fast.  
But Link’s better judgement still gnawed at him. He couldn’t bring himself to let his guard down around Phantom Ganon. Not now. Not ever. Link cringed away from the Sheikah Slate, his gaze flying to the Slate Lite on the floor. Phantom Ganon’s shoulders sank at that, a low groan leaking out of him. Growing ever more frustrated, the spirit was about to grab Link by the throat and force the Sheikah Slate into his hands, but a voice interrupted him.

“Take it, Link,” Maz Koshia called out. Link and Phantom Ganon’s heads flew toward him. The monk’s face twitched as he added, “I’ll admit... I’m curious. I had no idea he could do that.” He shook his head. “But whatever’s on that Slate... w-we can always run a scan of our own.”

Link swallowed. “Are you sure?”

The monk nodded. “Positive.”

Grinning, Phantom Ganon turned to Link, holding out the Sheikah Slate to him. “You heard the monk,” he purred. “It’ll be _just_ fine.”

Link shuddered, but he complied, finally giving in to Phantom Ganon’s insistence. Snatching the Sheikah Slate from him, Link rose from his chair and sped over to the stage. Phantom Ganon stepped aside, trailing behind him and looking over his shoulder.

Kneeling before the stage, Link held out the Sheikah Slate for everyone to see. Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin crowded in close, feasting their eyes on the screen. Though the three Sheikah were each initially awed by the display, everyone’s faces gradually stagnated as they read through the monk’s symptoms. The list wasn’t terribly long, thank the goddess. But the further they read, the worse it became.

_Seven fractured ribs… Partial chest wall detachment... Onset pneumonia…_

Link’s heart went stone cold. What he had read rolled his stomach, shooting bile up his throat. Purah and Symin flushed white as ghosts. Whether out of physical necessity or shock, Maz Koshia lay statue-still, staring at the Sheikah Slate. A light chuckle burbled out of him as he held his heaving side wound.

“W-would you look at that...?” he breathed. But his tone was… off. It wasn’t upset, disturbed. If anything, it was droning. As if he wasn’t surprised by this morbid news.

But Link was too engrossed in the Sheikah Slate’s data to notice. He couldn’t pry his eyes from the screen — the crimson glyphs bled into his eyes, making his vision swim. Blinking rapidly, Link shook his head. “Th-this can’t be right…!” he stammered. His head snapped up, flying toward Phantom Ganon. He leaned away from him, wailing, “Y-you’re lying!”

Phantom Ganon cocked his head. “Am I? When have I ever lied to you?” He gestured to Maz Koshia, saying lowly, “It’s just as the monk said, Master. I may be many things — devoted, damaged, _deranged —_ but I am not a liar.”

Link gagged on the bile climbing up his throat, his mind, much like his stomach, beginning to reel. Maybe it was because of his mounting panic, but he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that Phantom Ganon was right. He couldn’t think of a single instance in which the spirit had told a lie. But he couldn’t be telling the truth now — could he? No, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not to Maz Koshia.

As if reading his mind, the spirit shrugged, jabbing a thumb toward the Guidance Stone. “Go ahead and run a scan of your own if you don’t believe me.”

There was another momentary pause before Maz Koshia wheezed, “...He’s right.”

Link whirled on Maz Koshia, his eyes sparking with shock. “What?!”

Maz Koshia shook his head, continuing, “He’s not a liar. There’s no way he could have fabricated this. But, e-even then… I would like a second opinion.” He twisted his head up to the Guidance Stone before looking to Link and Symin, requesting, “Help me up, will you please? It’ll be quick.”

Though he looked rather green in the face, Symin nodded, swallowing. Link shot to his feet, only for a hand to appear on his shoulder, stopping him from approaching Maz Koshia. He turned to face Phantom Ganon, flinching in his shadow. Everyone stared as the spirit extended his gloves to Link.

“You may need these,” he said coolly.

They didn’t waste another second. Once Link had donned the gloves and Purah retrieved the Slate Lite, everyone took their places. Phantom Ganon stood back, observing. Purah booted up the Slate Lite, hopping on anxious feet as she watched Link join Symin above Maz Koshia. The pair exchanged a quick nod before grabbing hold of either of the monk’s biceps. On the count of three, they lifted him upright and to his feet as quickly, and gently, as they could.

Careful as they endeavored to be, Maz Koshia’s body locked up as another battering ram of pain clobbered his ribs. A scream swelled against his chest, but he didn’t dare let it out. Knees shaking, he slammed a hand against Link’s sternum, digging his nails in, breaking skin.

Link winced. “Maz?!” he wheezed, his throat tightening.

“I’m f-fine...!” the monk gasped. “Quickly — !”

The trio shambled over to the Guidance Stone, kneeling Maz Koshia down beneath it, where he laid his face on the pedestal, gasping. Purah promptly executed its analytical procedure. Link fidgeted, his eyes glued to the glowing stalactite; it seemed to take ages for the Guidance Stone to do its work. But finally, a drop of blue light slipped off of it and onto Maz Koshia’s snowy hair, absorbing into him. He shuddered as it traveled through him.

Purah scampered behind him, lifting his foot to collect the blue light building on the tips of his toes onto the Slate Lite. “Got it!” she announced.

Everyone promptly gathered around her — even Phantom Ganon craned his head to watch them take in the scan, a smug glow in his eye. Thankfully, the data was quick to come back. Link held up the Sheikah Slate, ready to compare it to the Slate Lite. When the device finally lit up with its findings, everyone but the spirit froze.

The two scans were identical. Same model, same markers, same symptoms.

“What’d I tell you?” Phantom Ganon mused.

Link stared, his face blank, at Maz Koshia’s data, his heart in his throat. He threw down the Sheikah Slate and sat back on his heels. Breath accelerating, he dug his fingers into his hair, shaking his head frantically. “Oh goddess — !” he choked, his gut heaving. “This can’t be happening — not to — ” He cut off, his gaze flying to Maz Koshia’s wound. He bit back a retch at the nauseating sight. “ _O-oh my goddess — !”_

As Link’s breath sped up, his Malice writhed on his arms, pulsating in-sync with the frenzied stampeding of his heart; he squirmed against it, doubling over and shrinking in on himself. Purah and Symin shied away. Meanwhile, Phantom Ganon watched Link’s Malice with something akin to hunger. The spirit wandered closer, almost as if in a trance.

But Maz Koshia remained remarkably calm in spite of the circumstances. As he watched Link’s downward spiral, the monk quickly turned to him, laying a hand on his cheek and drawing his head around toward him. Running his thumb along Link’s skin, the monk locked their gazes and offered him as reassuring a smile as he could muster.

“Hey, hey, look at me, hero,” he urged him tenderly. “There’s no need to panic — really.”

Tears stung Link’s eyes. He shook his head, stammering, “ _H-how can you say that, Maz?! You’re falling apart — look at you!”_

Maz Koshia snorted, gesturing to his displaced ribs. “This?” he scoffed through gritted teeth. Link took his chin back at that, but the monk only compounded his stupefaction when he added, “Believe it or not… this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, Link.”

Link froze, blinking off his horror as a fresh wave of shock pounded his brain. “...What?!”

Maz Koshia hung his head, an embarrassed grimace spreading his lips. “I haven’t told you… about my accident, have I?” Everyone, even Phantom Ganon, stiffened as they awaited his tale. The monk gave a wheezy chuckle, though it pained him.

“Millennia ago,” Maz Koshia began, swallowing. “I went to Mount Hylia — f-for a test run of the Master Cycle.” He shook his head. “I… I had no idea what I was doing. I was young. Inexperienced. I lost control — drove myself straight off a cliff. By the time I hit the bottom, I had broken my hip and clavicle, shattered I don’t know how many ribs, punctured a lung. The snow… s-so much red...” He snorted again, looking Link dead in the eye. “Do you know how long it took me to drag myself out of the snow and to the Shrine of Resurrection?”

A brief pause. All Link could do was stare, jaw dropped.

“Thirteen hours,” Maz Koshia said. Link’s heart skipped a beat. The monk then closed his eyes, reminiscing. “I thought I would die that day. But I didn’t.” He then focused on Link, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “I was preserved. For you. To train you. That is my divine mantle.” He paused, offering Link a bold smile. “And it’ll take a lot more than a little cough and some broken bones to take that away from me.”

For a moment, Link and Maz Koshia held each others’ gazes. The silent reassurance in the monk’s glowing eyes soothed Link’s hysteria; it was as if a weight was being pulled from his shoulders. All at once, Link’s body and wracked expression eased, his shoulders slouching. Bowing his head, he buried his cheek into Maz Koshia’s hand, holding it and gasping with relief. Swept up in the wake of the monk’s consolation, Link didn’t notice his Malice abruptly cease its thrashing.

But everyone else noticed. The three Sheikah paused, amazed. But Phantom Ganon stiffened.

_Did that just…?_

Maz Koshia risked a glance out of the corner of his eye to the spirit, but he was far too entrenched in the maelstrom of his mind to pay the monk any heed. The spirit’s eye blazed with bafflement, his chains subtly rattling as he shuddered, struggling to comprehend if what he had just witnessed had actually happened.

Foreseeing another potential fit of violence from the spirit, Maz Koshia quickly changed the subject. “Right then,” he announced, bringing Link’s gaze up to him. He looked to his companions, stating with a grimace, “I’m… in a bit of pain. Now that we know for a surety what’s wrong — ”

“We can fix you,” Link interrupted, leaning forward and nodding wildly. He took up the Sheikah Slate, eying Phantom Ganon’s scan. “We’ll follow this. Y-you’ll be all right.”

Purah and Symin gathered in closer. Looking between Maz Koshia and the Slate Lite, Purah instructed Link and Symin, “Lie him down. Gently.” She ran her hand through her hair, sighing, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Link and Symin nodded, easing the monk to his back as painlessly as they could. When he was safely laid down, Symin got to his feet, murmuring, “I’ll grab some supplies — be right back.”

As he turned, Purah beckoned, “Get the heavy-duty Guardian glue, Symin. We’re... gonna need a lot.”

Link, anchored to Maz Koshia’s side, tried not to let that thought sicken him.

Meanwhile, Phantom Ganon stood off-stage, unmoving, but slowly coming back to himself. Shaking his lingering confusion, he straightened, reorienting his attention on the task at hand — healing the monk. As Symin darted past him, Phantom Ganon’s hand shot out, seizing a fistful of his shirt.

Symin promptly went stiff as a board. For a moment, Link tensed, worried he’d have to break them up. But, to his surprise, Phantom Ganon instead offered, “Let me help, Symin.” He then cast a glance toward Link, Purah, and Maz Koshia, adding, “I _love_ helping.”

Symin gave a wheeze in response, nodding rapidly. Phantom Ganon proceeded to trail behind Symin like he was his shadow as he rushed about the lab for supplies; Symin moved as if death itself were breathing on his neck, gathering everything in less than thirty seconds. They quickly returned to the stage with several scalpels, bundles of gauze, scissors, a bottle of liquid painkiller, and a pot of adhesive with a paintbrush.

Laying down their spread alongside both Slates, Purah and Symin set their sights on Maz Koshia. The monk relaxed, uncovering his wound. Taking up a few scalpels, they were about to commence their work on him, only to stop dead when Phantom Ganon knelt himself beside them.

Link eyed him stiffly. “Phantom...? What are you doing?” he asked through gritted jaw.

“Helping, of course,” the spirit said matter-of-factly, taking up a scalpel of his own. “After all we’ve been through together, it’s the least I can do.” Turning to the monk, he added, driving the scalpel toward him, “Don’t worry — I’m _very_ good with knives.”

Maz Koshia’s hand caught the spirit’s wrist. He grumbled, his lip curling, “I’d rather you stay out of me, thank you very much.”

Pausing for but a moment, the spirit gave an innocent shrug, letting the scalpel clatter to the floor. He wrenched his hand out of Maz Kosiha’s grip, musing, “Eh, suit yourself. Your body was a hovel, anyway.” Standing, he strode over to the wall, leaning against it and crossing his arms. They all stared at him for a moment before he raised a hand, dismissing, “Go ahead, don’t mind me. I’ve done my part. Good luck.”

Link released a huff through his nose, shrugging him off. He was growing tired of this. “Whatever — c’mon,” he encouraged Purah and Symin. “Let’s get him fixed up.”

Finally, and without any further interruption from Phantom Ganon, they got to work treating Maz Koshia. Link didn’t trust his hands — he watched, all the while handing Purah and Symin tools and checking in with the monk as they worked on his chest cavity. Following their data, they carefully cut him open and glued together the veritable jigsaw puzzle that was his ravaged rib cage, focusing the majority of their work on the segment that had broken off completely.

Though his injuries were nevertheless grotesque — Link had to turn his eyes away a few times — thankfully, the monk had no blood to spill. And apart from the occasional twitch or grunt, Maz Koshia remained impeccably still as they worked on him. The painkiller Purah made him drink certainly helped.

After a few hours of nerve-wracking work, Symin snipped the last of the gauze and secured it into place. “That should do it, I think,” he said, looking over the dressing bound around the monk’s chest. He wiped his forehead. “The glue should be dry in a few hours.”

Maz Koshia smiled at him. “Thank you, Symin.” He turned his gaze on Purah, thanking her as well, “And thank you, Director. You’ve taken very good care of me.” The two Sheikah melted a little at that.

Link scooted forward. “How are you feeling?”

The monk rubbed his side, relief sweeping through him at its newfound stability. His breath had calmed, his body no longer paralyzed with pain. Smiling at Link, the monk sighed, “Much better.” But his voice was weary, his eyes sunken. He blinked, hard, making a face. “Just… tired, is all. But I’ll be even better once I get some sleep.”

Inspecting them, he sighed, adding, “The same goes for each of you. We’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours, now. We need to rest.” His lips pursed as his gaze flicked to the light of the full moon glinting on the window. “We need to be prepared for the Blood Moon,” he continued grimly. “No matter what may come to pass.”

Everyone stiffened at the reminder — both of the Blood Moon, and of how overworked they were. Had it really been twenty-four hours…? They could certainly feel it. Now that they weren’t scrambling, their exhaustion bored down upon them like the weight of an ocean. Their heavy skulls spiked to the erratic rhythm of their hearts; their eyes were wide and red, stinging with every blink. They desperately needed sleep.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Phantom Ganon chimed in, startling them.

Link turned his head, his eyes hardening when his gaze fell on the spirit. He had since seated himself against the wall, having grown bored. But now that they were finally done with the monk, he had to keep them on track. He had big plans, and not even Maz Koshia could derail them.

Getting to his feet, the spirit brandished his hands, inviting them, “How about we call it a day? Get you all in bed? It’s about time.” He smirked. “I’ll even let you sleep in tomorrow morning.”

“How generous…” Link grumbled under his breath.

Bone-tired as he was, Maz Koshia was immediately filled with suspicion. With a grimace, he sat up on his elbows, studying the spirit’s face. “And what will you be doing in the meantime?” he asked. “You don’t need to sleep.”

The spirit crossed his arm, shifting his feet. “I won’t be watching you sleep, if that’s what you’re thinking — what, you think I’m some kinda creep?” There was a brief lull, everyone staring at Phantom Ganon. But before anyone could say anything, he shook his head, droning, “Y’know what? Don’t answer that.” He scowled at Maz Koshia. “For your information, monk, I’ve got some preparations to make…”

Link’s brows furrowed. “What preparations?”

Phantom Ganon turned on him, his eye sparkling with ecstasy. “Why, for your training, of course! I’ve got something special in mind.” Link flinched when the spirit clapped his hands together like an excited toddler, trilling, “Oh, I can’t wait for you to see it — you’re gonna love it!”

“ _Special?”_ Link echoed. “Like what?”

“No, no, no — no spoilers,” the spirit said, raising his pointer fingers. He came forward, gathering to his knees and shoving his face into Link’s; Link backed up into the wall. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out, my little eager beaver.” Cocking his head, the spirit tapped his finger against the tip of Link’s nose playfully, crooning, “Sleep tight, now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Link cringed away from his touch, banging his head against the wall. In the heat of the moment, he didn’t notice Phantom Ganon take the Sheikah Slate, tucking it behind his back. With that, the spirit stood, turned, and walked through the wall with a giggle, leaving them to their own devices.

Everyone stared after him for a moment, breathless and a tad disturbed. But once he had gone, the group gave a collective sigh, slouching.

Rubbing the back of his head, Link turned toward his companions, whereupon his heart sank. Phantom Ganon hadn’t sugarcoated it — they _did_ look like corpses. Frazzled hair, drooping eyes, sagging posture. With a shudder, Link gathered to his feet, his skull swimming slightly. Whether that was from bumping his head or his exhaustion, he didn’t know. But he didn’t care.

Glancing across the lab to his and Maz Koshia’s futons, Link stooped, urging the monk, “C’mon, Maz — let’s get you to bed.”

But Maz Koshia raised a hand. He shook his head and eased himself to his back, refusing politely, “No, I… I think I’d better stay here. The less I move, the better the glue dries.” His brow wrinkled as he requested, “Could I trouble you to bring my futon over?”

Link nodded. “Of course. Anything you need.”

As Link turned to retrieve it, Maz Koshia added, stopping him briefly, “Bring yours over, too. I don’t want you sleeping alone.”

Link stiffened when a scoff resounded in his mind. Clearly, despite his preoccupations, Phantom Ganon was still keeping tabs on him. Interestingly enough, the spirit didn’t add any further commentary. Link wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or suspicious, but he shook it off. He had more important matters to attend to — like crashing into bed.

As Link wandered to the other side of the lab, Purah and Symin hovered over Maz Koshia, making sure he had everything he might need — painkillers, gauze, water to drink. They gave him perhaps too much, but he was grateful regardless. They even offered to camp out downstairs with them, but the monk refused them, urging them to get some rest in their rooms.

When Link returned with a bounty of pillows and their futons, he laid out their beds on the stage. After Maz Koshia settled down, he then encouraged his company to do the same.

They certainly didn’t need telling twice. It was only eight o’clock by that point — not that that mattered, though. Not with the fatigue that was crushing them into the floor. Bidding each other their weary goodnights, Link collapsed onto his futon and Purah and Symin trudged upstairs, switching off the lights as they went.

Link settled on his side, facing Maz Koshia as he reclined on his back. As Link lay there, listening to Purah and Symin’s footsteps fade away into the rafters, his stared, emptily, into the darkness, his mind ablaze in his throbbing skull.

His body begged for him to drift off, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Though he was relieved to be free of Phantom Ganon for the time being, he couldn’t pull the thought of the spirit’s excitement from his mind, his vague words, the looming promise of his training. Whatever Phantom Ganon had planned for him for the Blood Moon… it had made him giddy, childlike — two traits that were alarmingly unbecoming of him.

Link had no idea what he was in for, and it was eating him up inside. It made his Malice slither, breathing with anxious magenta light, though he hid it beneath his sheets.

It seemed that Maz Koshia, too, was still stewing over Phantom Ganon’s behavior. He pursed his lips as he gazed into the ceiling, rubbing a finger against one of his golden bracelets, his mind surging with speculation. After thinking himself ragged for a time, he dragged his head toward Link, checking on him. In the darkness, the monk could tell that Link was nowhere near asleep, what for the glow of his eyes.

With a pitied smile, Maz Koshia reached out to Link, gently laying a hand on his hair. Link jolted, his head snapping up. The ghostly turquoise glow of the monk’s eyes held his own through the darkness, grounding him.

“Get some rest, Link,” Maz Koshia cooed, patting his head. “I… have a feeling you’re going to need it. He seems to have quite a bit planned for you.”

Link stiffened, clenching a sludgy fist. “I know...” His spine rattled at the memory of the spirit’s enthusiasm. It was nothing short of unnerving. Link squirmed, muttering, “But… I don’t even know if I want to train with him anymore. I don’t want anything to do with him after what he did to you.” Bringing out his hand, he stared into his Malice, shuddering. “But I have to get rid of this.”

Maz Koshia eyed his Malice as well. He sighed through his nose, frowning. He echoed Link’s desires, as well as his ambivalence. Link had to tame his Malice somehow — but why, of all people in the world, did his teacher have to be Phantom Ganon? Yet, as much as the thought haunted them, it seemed that the spirit was the key. They hadn’t had much luck themselves.

But perhaps they would get lucky again and it would go down overnight? They could only pray for that, but Maz Koshia wasn’t counting on it.

“I know,” the monk sympathized. “And you will.” He then pulled Link’s sheet higher over his hand, covering his Malice, adding, “But try not to let it keep you up. Come what may, we can handle it.” He laid his hand atop Link’s head again. “For now, just rest your head, all right? I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Link murmured. He scooted closer to Maz Koshia, breathing, “Night, Maz.”

Maz Koshia smiled. “Goodnight, hero.” As they both began to drift off, the monk trailed his fingers through Link’s hair; his touch lulled Link’s eyes shut.

For better or worse, they slept like the dead — much longer than they should have. Though Maz Koshia had promised to wake Link, the monk, much like the other occupants of the lab, was completely out cold by the time dawn broke. Still in their beds, the final day marched on without them. Nobody so much as stirred until noon, when a gunge in Maz Koshia’s throat roused him awake.

The monk’s eyelids split open. He had no idea what time it was. Stirring, he swallowed, making a face at the Malice that had clogged up his throat overnight. Gagging on it, he tried to sit himself up, to reach for the nearby glass of water at his bedside. But a twinge of pain in his chest caught his breath, inevitably sending him into a wet coughing fit. He rolled to his side, burying his face in his pillow in vain hopes of not waking Link.

But Link jumped out of his skin at the monk’s coughing, his sheets flying up as he rocketed to his hands and knees. His eyes, wide-open and wild, immediately flew to Maz Koshia. “Maz?! A-are you all right?!” he panicked.

There was a slight pause as the monk recuperated, regaining control of himself. He scowled at the splatter of Malice staining his pillow. Slumping to his back, Maz Koshia held his chest, wearing a grimace against his burning lungs and aching ribs.

“I’m fine,” he croaked. “Just a tickle in my throat.”

Bracing a hand against the stage, he held his side, carefully easing himself upright. Though the glue bonding his ribs together had solidified, a dull pain still throbbed in his chest cavity — something his fit hadn’t helped. But, otherwise, no damage had been done, as far as he could tell; he was just a little congested, out of breath.

Brushing it off, he took up the glass of water, quickly downing it, before turning toward Link. With a smile, he changed the subject, asking, “How did you sleep?”

Link sat back on his heels, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. “Fine, I guess,” he replied, blinking away sleep. His eyes wandered, trailing to Maz Koshia’s bindings, before finding his soiled pillow. A pang of fear stabbed Link’s gut at the sight of it. He took in a shaky gasp, meeting Maz Koshia’s eyes.

“I’m all right, Link,” the monk reassured him, raising a hand.

Part of Link wanted to believe him. But no matter how many times the monk told him that, Link couldn’t shake the awful feeling that he wasn’t telling him the whole truth. The monk’s awful symptoms rang in his mind again.

“But y-your scans…” Link stammered. “They said you have pneumonia.”

“It’s just a little cough,” the monk corrected, laying a hand on Link’s shoulder. “That’s all. I’m not concerned. You shouldn’t be, either.” He shook his head. “Never mind me, hero. The Blood Moon will rise tonight — we need to focus on you.” Pausing, the monk tossed back Link’s sheets, exposing his arms, murmuring, “...On this.”

Link’s gaze traveled downward. He pitched back, cringing. Malice still smothered his arms like a grisly paint. He quickly discovered with a rush of horror that his sheets were slimy with it, stained with black and magenta streaks. Gasping, he gave a start, his Malice throbbing to the stuttering of his heart. For some reason, he hadn’t slept it off this time.

“Ergh...!” Link groaned, clamping his hands against his sludgy forearms, burying his fingers in his own poison. “Why?! Why isn’t it coming off?! It did last time…?!”

Maz Koshia thought back to that night, when he had watched Link’s Malice retreat into his body of its own accord. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The monk ground his jaw, his brain surging. “You had a lot less on your mind, then,” he sighed. “If my theories are correct, then your Malice responds to your emotional state; I imagine all that’s happened isn’t helping matters...”

The pair met each others’ gazes again. Maz Koshia’s heart squeezed at Link’s shaken expression. “You’re anxious. Scared. I can see it in your eyes. But maybe if…” he continued. “Maybe if we calmed you down…?” As soon as he said it, the monk’s brows furrowed, an idea dawning on him. He quickly swiveled, crossing his legs and facing Link. “I want to try something,” he proposed. “Maybe it’ll help…? Here, come sit with me.”

Confused, but desperate, Link obeyed, crossing his legs and seating himself across from Maz Koshia. The monk took in a long, deep breath, focusing his mind and raising a hand. He paused for a moment, flexing his fingers, before cupping his palm over Link’s bone mask, covering his eyes. Link stiffened. He had no idea where this was going.

“Now, relax, Link,” Maz Koshia murmured. “Close your eyes.”

“Okay,” Link breathed, doing as he said.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. They merely sat in silence. But soon enough, a sudden pressure formed in Link’s skull, an invisible force squeezing his brain. He flinched, but it didn’t hurt. If anything, it felt as though something were massaging his brain, soothing his tumultuous mind.

Then, as quickly as he had begun, Maz Koshia withdrew his hand. “We’re here,” he said reverently.

Link opened his eyes, whereupon he gave a little jolt. His eyes widened as he beheld the otherworldly place he suddenly found himself in. They were no longer in the lab, but on a lofty, stone-studded mountain top overlooking a vast expanse of the wild. A carpet of rosy cherry blossom petals blanketed the lush grass and wildflowers they rested on. To their left, a shallow pond lay at the foot of a towering sakura tree, its clouds of pink blossoms rustling in the passing breeze, sweetening the air.

Link’s jaw dropped. This wasn’t possible. “Maz…?” he gawked.

Smiling at his reaction, Maz Koshia got to his feet, offering Link his hand. Still stunned by the sights around him, Link reached out to take the monk’s hand.

But he completely froze. He gaped at his arm. His Malice was nowhere to be found. Not only was his Malice gone, but he had — he had skin. _Normal_ skin. He wasn’t semi-transparent anymore, he couldn’t see his bones. Heart racing, Link threw up his other arm, marveling at its normalcy. Maz Koshia beamed as Link proceeded to slap his hands against his face, feeling it up and down, his eyes widening at his distinct lack of his bone mask, his horns, his third eye.

Link turned his wild gaze up to Maz Koshia, repeating, “M-Maz?!”

The monk gestured toward the pond. “Have a look, hero,” he invited.

Breathless, Link scrambled over to the water, leaning over its surface. The face that looked back at him wrenched his breath from his lungs. A young man stared at him. Dirty-blonde hair framed his face, blank with astonishment, his azure eyes darting along his fair features as if they were starved for sight.

“Is that…?” Link choked.

Another face appeared in the water — one that Link recognized. Maz Koshia smiled, looking fondly upon the young man in the reflection. He laid his hand on Link’s shoulder, beaming, “That’s you, Link. The _real_ you. Behind the mask.”

Link brought his shaking hands up to his face again, caressing his cheeks, tousling his hair. Tears welled in his eyes, his breath hitching as he was seized by a bout of ecstatic laughter. He couldn’t control himself, but he didn’t even attempt it. A warmth saturated him to his core, soothing the anxiety stewing in his blood. He had never felt this good. This... amazed. At peace.

“I can’t believe it…!” Link wheezed. “I’m… I’m so normal!” Blinking, his eyes wandered to the monk’s reflection. His brows furrowed. Pulling his gaze from the pond, he turned to Maz Koshia, stammering, “But… what about you? Y-You haven’t changed…?”

Maz Koshia smiled sadly, giving a shrug. “It’s as I said — I don’t remember what I used to look like. But I remember what you look like.” He brushed his knuckles against Link’s cheek. “Just like this.”

Link shuddered at the monk’s touch for some reason. Just as quickly as it came on, his elation fizzled, his stomach hollowing out. He cast his gaze around the peaceful area before his eyes fell into his hands.

“...This isn’t real, is it?” he breathed.

Maz Koshia winced slightly, frowning. “Not… entirely,” he admitted. “This is an illusory realm of the mind, a place of memories,” he explained, gesturing around. When Link withered at the reality of it, the monk leaned forward, taking him by the shoulder and inspiriting him, “But don’t dismiss it just yet, hero. This runs deeper than you think.” He squeezed Link’s shoulder. “This — all of this — is inside of you somewhere. It’s just… buried. All we have to do is get it out.”

Link sniffed, wiping at his eyes, nodding. He knew what he meant. Though crestfallen as he was at the news, joy still bloomed in his chest at the feel of his smooth cheek, his fair skin. A smile tugged at his mouth as he faced his reflection again. That was him.

Bringing his eyes up, Link once again took in the ethereal mountain top, getting to his feet. Maz Koshia rose with him. Link looked up to the monk, wondering, “Where are we, Maz?”  
Maz Koshia looked upon their surroundings with an almost sacred reverence. “This is Satori Mountain, Link. One of my favorite places in all of Hyrule.” Sighing, he strode through the pond beneath the sakura tree; Link followed after him, the water pleasantly chilling his bare feet.

The monk continued, “Whenever I grew weary of my studies, I would retire here.” As they basked in the shade of the tree, a wistful smile curled Maz Koshia’s lip. He reached out and traced his fingertips against its trunk, his eyes fogging over with memory. “Actually, this was where the Goddess inspired me to wait for you,” he murmured. “Here, beneath this tree.”

Link couldn’t help but stare at him, stunned. He found his gaze fixed on the monk’s weathered skin, his bony frame. He had honestly never thought about what Maz Koshia would have been like when he was young, with flesh and blood — retiring to this place, studying, living. Link had gotten so used to his emaciated appearance, he barely ever considered what his life might have been like before he was mummified.

“...How old were you, Maz?” Link asked quietly. “When she inspired you?”

Maz Koshia smiled, turning his head toward Link. “I was thirty-eight.” Link started at that. The monk chuckled. “Such a small number, now...”

The monk suddenly stiffened, his head snapping up. He tossed his head over his shoulder, scouring the mountain top, his brow furrowed. A shadow darkened his once-peaceful expression. “...I was wondering when he would show up,” he grumbled.

Link blinked, turning his head. “Who?”

But Maz Koshia didn’t want to linger long enough to answer. He took Link by the shoulder, quickly ushering them behind the sakura tree. “Quickly now, — he mustn’t see us,” he urged. Link, more confused than ever, followed him. When they were safely behind the tree, the monk gathered behind Link, tucking him close. In silence, they watched the pond, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their unwanted guest.

Before long, a figure came stomping up from the mountainside, the amber jewel on his forehead glittering as he tossed his head to and fro. Link pitched back when he recognized the figure’s gleaming yellow eyes, his shock of red hair, and his bone mask, crowned with long, wicked horns — it was _himself._

Wait — no, that wasn’t him. He wasn’t that tall, burly. Link reeled with shock when he suddenly realized that he was looking at _Phantom Ganon._ But the Phantom Ganon that Link knew was mostly nude, apart from a few scraps of Guardian armor clinging to his shadowy body. Now, the spirit was clothed, sporting a leather cuirass, a studded metal spaulder and knee guards, and heavy, steel-toed boots.

Link jumped when the spirit shouted, shredding the tranquil atmosphere, “All right, where are you?! I know this is you, Maz Koshia!” He patrolled the pond, scanning for him. “You think this is funny, eh? Screwing with me?!” He kicked at the petals on the ground. “When I find you… ohh, when I find you…!”

Link shuddered back into Maz Koshia at the sight of the spirit, his hand grazing the smooth skin of his face. Though his bone mask had gone temporarily back to its original owner, he nevertheless felt his skin itching against it, his blood chilling. Link looked so much like Phantom Ganon with that ghastly mask on. It was uncanny

“Phantom…?” Link gawked.

“Indeed,” Maz Koshia mumbled. “As he once was, before his banishment.” As they continued to watch the spirit storm about the pond, Link felt Maz Koshia’s fingers dig into his shoulder. The monk’s eyes tightened. He shook his head. “...But why is he here?” he wondered.

Link blinked, looking back at him. “He’s… he’s in my head, Maz. Of course he’d be here.”

The monk saddened. “I feared as much — but that’s not what I meant.” He pursed his lips. “Why is he here at all? With you? In the Slate?” He locked gazes with Link, explaining, “You must understand, Link — the place that he was banished to… no one could return from. Someone deliberately pulled him out.”

Link shivered at that. “Who? _Why?”_

Maz Koshia frowned, his mind brewing. “I don’t know. But before I pass on, I intend to find out…”

Link froze. The grim notion that someone was pulling the spirit’s strings sickened him. But the more he thought about it, the more Phantom Ganon’s words returned to him — that they were bound together, that they needed each other. They were inseparable without the demise of the other. It dawned on him that this had all been planned. Whether at the spirit’s hand — or someone else’s — he had no idea.

But even without straight answers, he knew he would be stuck with the spirit for the foreseeable future. Just the two of them, once Link’s training with Maz Koshia was complete. And when the monk was gone… the spirit would have Link all to himself. Just like he wanted.

A pang of horror stung Link’s stomach at the thought. Cringing into Maz Koshia’s chest, Link looked from Phantom Ganon to the vast expanse of nature spreading around him. He froze when a radical idea struck him.

Link’s heart skipped a beat. He jerked his head toward Maz Koshia. “Come with me,” he said.

Maz Koshia blinked. “What?”

“Come with me, Maz,” Link repeated, his voice shaking. He laid his hand on Maz Koshia’s as it rested on his shoulder. “Out there. In Hyrule.” He swallowed. “I want to see it with you. I want you to travel with me.”

Maz Koshia’s eyes sputtered with shock. He leaned back, inspecting Link, his mouth hanging open. “Link... That’s… not my place,” he breathed. He shook his head. “Hylia’s decree was that I live long enough to train you — until you’re ready to face Calamity Ganon. That was our agreement.”

Link leaned toward him. “But what if I’m not ready yet?” he pressed. “What if I’m only ready — _really_ ready — after taking back all the Divine Beasts?”  
Maz Koshia took his chin back at that, his eyes widening even further.

Link’s shoulders tensed. “Please, Maz, you can’t leave. Not now.” He gestured toward Phantom Ganon, still raging below them. “You can’t leave me with… with _him._ I need you.” He squeezed the monk’s hand, pleading, “Come with me. Please.”

A few moments of silence passed as Maz Koshia thought it over. Such a request was unheard of, and he knew it. He stiffened, searching the grass. “E-even if I did… Phantom Ganon wouldn’t like that...”

Link’s brows furrowed. “I don’t care. He’ll have to live with it.” Maz Koshia brought his gaze back up to him as he continued, “I need _you_ more than I need _him._ No matter what he says.”

A bloom of gratification warmed Maz Koshia’s chest at that. But even then, his shoulders sank. “It would be my honor, hero,” he began. “But… I need to consult the Goddess first. Accompanying you would be a major deviation.”

Link’s heart skipped another beat. He wilted, his face falling.

Maz Koshia’s hand promptly found Link’s cheek. “I’m not saying no,” he admonished tenderly. “But… I’m also not saying yes. Yet. I must ask Her first. She guides my paths.” He brushed his thumb on Link’s cheek, adding, “Just as She does yours.”

Though his chest hollowed out at the monk’s answer, Link hung his head, nodding. “Okay…”

There was a brief lull, only broken by Phantom Ganon’s stomping. Maz Koshia sighted before he straightened, announcing, “I… I think it’s about time we leave.”

Link’s head snapped up, his eyes widening. “S-so soon?”

“I know,” the monk empathized, frowning. “I don’t want to leave, either.” He turned his head toward Phantom Ganon, adding grimly, “But the longer we keep him here with us, the more angry he’ll get in reality.” He shrugged. “But we can come back here as often as you like.”

Though he dreaded having to wear his bone mask again, Link gave in. “All right,” he said, getting to his feet.

Maz Koshia followed his suit, a hand still on his shoulder. Before he brought them back, he paused, urging Link with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Oh, and when we get back — play dumb. We don’t need him knowing our little... secret.”

A smile stole Link’s lips. He nodded. Cupping his hand over Link’s eyes, the monk whisked them out of his illusory realm and back to reality.

It was instantaneous. Link soon found himself sitting across from Maz Koshia in the lab again, as if they had never moved. With Link’s request and Phantom Ganon’s presence fresh on their minds, they briefly forgot the reason they had even ventured to Satori Mountain in the first place. But they never got the chance to inspect Link’s Malice, as the front doors promptly burst open.

Phantom Ganon marched into the lab — back to normal and lacking his strange armor — his red eye ablaze with mania. He whirled his gaze on Maz Koshia, stomping forward and jabbing something he was carrying at him, screaming, “YOU! What the hell did you do to me?!”

Though they endeavored to maintain their composure, both Link and Maz Koshia blinked at the object that Phantom Ganon thrust at the monk. It was a pair of greasy tongs. Brow furrowing, Maz Koshia mused innocently, “I don’t know what you mean…?”

“Oh, don’t even _go_ there!” the spirit spat. “You did something, I know it! Made me see things — ”

Link chimed in, denying, “What are you talking about? We’ve been here. We just woke up.”

The spirit cocked his head, snarling, “Is that right?”

“Yes!” Link cried.

The spirit looked about to fly into a rage, but something stopped him. It was Link — his face had crunched, his nose stinging against a smell drifting through the air. Maz Koshia soon followed, testing the air with a curl of his lip. The smell was dark and unpleasantly singed, making Maz Koshia eke out a brief cough

Link looked to Phantom Ganon, wondering, “I-Is something burning?!”

Phantom Ganon froze for a split second before he suddenly jerked his head toward the front door. “Shit!” he hissed, speeding outside.

Link and Maz Koshia exchange a bewildered glance. Without a word to each other, Link came forward, allowing Maz Koshia to grab hold of his shoulders. The monk leaned heavily on him as they rose to their feet and hobbled outside. They quickly ground to a halt, choking on the cloud of black smoke enveloping the porch. Waving it away, they peered through the smog, finding Phantom Ganon reaching his tongs into a smoking wok sitting on the furnace.

He pulled something out of it, inspecting it for a moment, before sighing to himself, “Ahh, saved it!” Looking over it, he added, “A little crispy, but that never killed anybody…”

Link squinted at what he was holding. Through the smoke, he couldn’t tell what it was. “Phantom! What are you doing?!” he cried.

The spirit turned his head, a grin on his fangs. “Making you breakfast, of course!”

Link gawked. He couldn’t believe his ears. He could only gape as Phantom Ganon squatted, dragging over a shield and a tall glass of milk that sat in the grass at his feet. He gingerly grabbed the glass of milk before plating whatever-he-was-cooking onto the shield with a juicy _slap._

Flinging his tongs, he stood, swiveling and hovering over to Link. He shoved the meal into his face. “Here. Eat up,” he encouraged, his eye glinting with anticipation. “You need your strength.”

Link took his chin back, aghast at what the spirit presented him with. An enormous skewer lay on the shield — wait, not a skewer. It was a _sword,_ speared through thick, crudely-cut slabs of meat and mushroom caps. The mushrooms were ruddy-brown and sweating, the meat salt-crusted, charred. The ensemble still spat in the shield, red juices pooling beneath it.

Link’s stomach spontaneously crushed with desperation, his mouth flooding. This… copious skewer of meat — it smelled incredible. But... Phantom Ganon had made it? Though Link’s mind spiraled with confusion and suspicion, his stomach nearly climbed up his throat, scrambling to taste it. He almost reached for it, but stopped himself, giving pause. He couldn’t comprehend why he so inexplicably _needed_ this.

Swallowing his rampant hunger as best he could, Link stepped back into Maz Koshia, choking out, “W-what is this?!”

“Your breakfast!” Phantom Ganon beamed. “Here.” He pushed the meal forward again.

“What did you do to it?!”

“Cooked it.”

Link’s eyelids fluttered. Squinting at the meat, Maz Koshia added, stealing the words from Link’s mouth, “We don’t have any meat. Where did you get that?”

Phantom Ganon puffed out his chest, shooting the monk a smug look. “Oh, y’know, I saw that mushroom soup you made yesterday,” he began airily. Turning to Link, he added, “You seemed to really like it, so I thought I’d make you something, too,” he paused, sneering at Maz Koshia, “ — something _better —_ to get you ready for tonight.” He pushed the skewer into Link’s face again. “The razorshrooms I found down in that forest will do you good. The little doe that scampered by was just a bonus.”

Link and Maz Koshia eyed the meat with a newfound shock of horror. “ _...Doe?!”_ Link stammered.

“Yes, sir!” Phantom Ganon trilled. “Beauty, that one. Didn’t put up much of a fight, though. But I reckon she’ll taste _amazing.”_

Link’s stomach rolled, his eyes flying between the skewer and the spirit. “ _Why would you do that?!”_ he wheezed.

Oblivious to their horror, Phantom Ganon replied, his gaze fixed on Link, “I do it all for you, Master. I live to serve you — you know that.” The spirit again pushed his meal into his face, urging, “Here.”

Nobody moved for an eternal moment. Link swallowed, his eyes falling onto the spirit’s offering. His stomach churned with a bizarre cocktail of disgust and desire. Phantom Ganon’s gesture was nothing short of disturbing. And yet… it was thoughtful. Albeit in a rather grotesque way. Clearly, he had put quite a bit of thought and effort into it. But the gesture only made Link’s skin crawl — Phantom Ganon… being _nice_ to him.

Nevertheless, the rich, charred aroma curling off of the meat was absolutely intoxicating. Part of Link was possessed with the desire to snatch up the skewer and sink his teeth into the thick, tender meat, to lose himself in the sizzling flesh —

Link gave a violent shudder, his hand flying to his stomach. He tangled his fingers into his undershirt. As famished as he was, the knowledge of Phantom Ganon’s… _niceties_ sent a nauseous spike into his gut, wrenching him from his strange lapse in control.

“I-I’m not hungry,” Link lied.

Phantom Ganon stiffened, his eye glazing over.

A brief, yet heavy, pause followed before Maz Koshia stepped forward, his hand tightening Link’s shoulder. “How about we run a scan of you, Link,” the monk stated. It wasn’t a suggestion. “Right now.” He scowled at Phantom Ganon, snarling, “We find that it works best on an empty stomach.”

Link gave a mute nod, backing into the monk.

Phantom Ganon stared at them for half a second. They jumped when the glass in his hand exploded beneath his grip. Glass shards and milk rained onto the grass. With a manic giggle, the spirit launched the shield and the skewer over his shoulder. They soared through air before disappearing over the cliff’s edge.

The spirit’s chains rattled as he stood before them, shaking. “Y-you’re not hungry?! That’s fine!” he squawked. “Not like I slaved for two hours to make it for you, or anything!” He threw his hands up, shrugging, “ _Hahahaha!_ Silly me! Who needs to eat, anyway?!”

Link and Maz Koshia watched his meltdown with bated breath. But he had no sooner spiraled before he clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together. The spirit prowled toward Link and Maz Koshia, barraging them with rapid-fire questions, “So, what’s the plan, then? Scanning, right? Can I help? I love to help. I’m done with my prep for tonight, anyway.” He leaned into Link’s face, holding the Sheikah Slate aloft, adding, “You’re gonna need this, right? _Right?!”_

Breathless, Link reached for the Slate. His fingers had just grazed the device when Phantom Ganon’s hand shot out and clamped around his wrist, giving him a start. The spirit fed his eye on Link’s arm — on his Malice. With Phantom Ganon’s earlier intrusion, Link and Maz Koshia hadn’t taken a moment to see if their visit to Satori Mountain had affected Link’s Malice.

But now that they were looking at it… something was different. The viscous poison had thinned and retreated noticeably, becoming less of a carpet and more of a patchwork on Link’s skin. His bones were exposed in places; though not completely gone, their time at Satori Mountain had definitely withdrawn Link’s Malice somewhat.

Link and Maz Koshia almost erupted into a fit of jubilation at the sight, but Phantom Ganon’s subsequent reaction kept them from it — thankfully. Had they showcased their delight, they would have no doubt incurred Phantom Ganon’s suspicions.

“What the — ?!” the spirit sputtered, pulling Link from his reveries. Phantom Ganon turned over Link’s arm, baffled beyond belief. “What’s this?! Y-Your Malice…?! It’s gone _down?!”_

Link snatched his hand out of the spirit’s grasp. A smirk teased his lips. “What’s wrong?” he sneered. “That a bad thing?”

The spirit stiffened at Link’s tone. His jaw twitched. “Of course it is! We can’t train you on using your Malice if it’s not there.” Shrugging, the spirit then leaned into Link’s face. “But no matter — I can always tease it out of you.” He walked his fingers up Link’s chest, toward his throat, purring darkly, “I have my ways…”

Something inside Link writhed at that. He gave a guttural grunt, flinching away from the spirit’s touch, the remaining Malice on his arms giving a distinct spasm, flashing with light. Maz Koshia’s eyes flew to Link’s arms, his lips firming. He had to step in — he couldn’t let Phantom Ganon undo all their hard work.

“Is that right?” Maz Koshia interjected, wrenching Link away from Phantom Ganon, stepping between them. The spirit drew his face into Maz Koshia’s, but the monk was unmoved. His eyes glittered with cruel intent as he lured him, “Please, spirit, regale me with your methods. I’m dying to know.”

Phantom Ganon snickered. “Excited, are we? Well, you of all people should know to exercise patience, monk.” He gestured toward the cliffside. “Midnight. The beach. You’re welcome to watch. Oh, and bring a notepad — you might learn a thing or two.”

“I plan to,” Maz Koshia snarled. Backing up a step, he seized Link by the shoulder, still locking eyes with Phantom Ganon. “C’mon, Link,” he said, turning. “Let’s take a look at you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, what a great chapter! I had tons and tons of fun with this one. We’re building up to something big with the Blood Moon, and I hope I was able to capture some of that growing tension here.
> 
> I hope Maz Koshia’s injuries weren’t too much to stomach. Possession by Phantom Ganon would definitely leave some last damage…
> 
> But I especially loved the Satori Mountain scene. Gah, it’s one of my favorites I’ve written. I’ve enjoyed delving into Maz Koshia’s back story, getting to know him. The relationship he has with Link makes me feel all sorts of warm fuzzies, if you couldn’t tell. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> But what of their progress with Link’s Malice? And the Blood Moon? We’ll just have to find out…!
> 
> Anyway, a few items of business before I leave you — are you comfortable with the cursing in this story? I tend not to write too much of it, as I don’t like gratuitous swearing, but I think it was appropriate in a few places. With Phantom Ganon especially. I imagine he’d have a bit of a mouth. Let me know if you find the cursing unsuitable and I’ll make some tweaks.
> 
> Also, how are you liking chapter lengths? Should I shorten them in the future? Next chapter won’t be quite as long as this one (don’t want to keep you waiting too much longer) but let me know what you think. 
> 
> P.S. I’m having tons of fun playing Age of Calamity. It’s seriously one of the most fun romps I’ve had in a game for a while. It’s been as inspiring for me as it has been thrilling. Keep an eye out for that inspiration… I might include something or other from it in this story… ;)
> 
> Anyway, thank you SO MUCH for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts. I’d love to connect with you.
> 
> I’ll see you next chapter…


	23. Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Corrupted Hero is BACK! Oh yeah! 
> 
> Okay, I know I always say this, but I do apologize for the delay in the update. I was aiming for a January release, but unfortunately, a certain little microbe finally caught up to me. But I’m doing just fine, thank goodness. I hope you all are doing okay and are staying safe and strong and healthy.
> 
> Anyway, welcome to chapter 23 of Corrupted Hero! I won’t keep you, but this one’s fun. Lots to explore here! This one’s nice and long to make up for the delay. 
> 
> Before I let you go, I do want to thank you all, readers new and old, for your patience and support. It means a ton to me, both you and the story, so I just wanted to offer my sincere thanks for being here. :) Here’s to future chapters!
> 
> Now, read on, and enjoy! This one’s a great one.

Despite the lingering humidity from the recent storm, a shiver rolled through Link as he sat on the pedestal beneath the Guidance Stone. Now stripped down to nothing but his shorts, he firmed his grip on the pedestal’s sides, squirming beneath the stares of Maz Koshia, Purah, Symin, and Phantom Ganon.

Especially Phantom Ganon.

Link wasn’t sure whether the unease souring his stomach was due to modesty… or because of the looks the spirit was giving him. But he was inclined to think the latter. Phantom Ganon prowled around him on the stage like a wolf, trailing his eye up and down his body, admiring the Malice slicking his arms and the bones shining through his skin in complete, besotted silence.

Link’s spine stiffened at the spirit’s fawning. Out of all of Phantom Ganon’s obsessive tendencies, this was, undoubtedly, the worst of it. Link could take the spirit’s abuse, his envy, his short fuse — but the raw, almost-salivary adoration in Phantom Ganon’s eye was nothing short of skin-crawling. Link had half a mind to snap at him to stop, but his voice, much like his heart, was jammed in his throat.

No, as unsettling as the spirit’s worship for him was, it was the least of his problems. The very least. Something else rankled in his mind; something that, in the heat of the morning’s events, had escaped him until that moment.

Goddesses above — it was the afternoon of the third day. It was finally here. Less than twelve hours remained before the Blood Moon rose.

And the spirit skulking around him was the only one who knew what would happen when it did.

Link withered on the pedestal, his heart murmuring in his chest at his grim reality. As if the imminent Blood Moon and Phantom Ganon’s secrecy weren’t enough, Link still had Maz Koshia’s examinations, as well as the spirit’s ominous training, to look forward to. It all loomed over his head like an impending celestial doom, sullying his blood with dread and twisting his empty stomach into knots.

Link wanted nothing more than to stampede out the door, crawl into a ditch somewhere, and hide. But he knew in his right mind that that wasn’t an option. Phantom Ganon wouldn’t allow it, and Maz Koshia was much too eager to monitor him.

No, whether he liked it or not, there was nothing to be done but see this through. Link had no idea what the day would bring. But regardless of what came — be it nothing or otherwise — he had a sinking feeling that it was going to be a very, very long day.

But he didn’t have the time to think himself into hysterics over it. For the moment, he had Maz Koshia’s examinations to wrangle with. Link took in a slow breath, hoping to cool his anxieties, though it didn’t do him much good. Still, out of everything on the docket for the day, he felt he could at least handle a few tests.

As Phantom Ganon continued to make his rounds, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin stood directly before Link. Purah and Symin flanked the monk’s sides, anxiously awaiting his orders. Purah rocked on her little feet, lips pursed, gripping her Slate Lite with white knuckles; Symin balanced a box of supplies on his hip, an open notebook laid across it and a sharpened pencil at the ready, eager to take notes.

Meanwhile, Maz Koshia surveyed Link’s naked frame, making a few preliminary observations in his own notebook. His mouth fixed in a line, he split his gaze between Link and his scribbling, making note of, among many things, Link’s nervous demeanor, the cold sweat glistening on his skin, and, most importantly, the smattering of Malice on his arms.

Maz Koshia squinted at Link’s Malice, his throat itching. Though he had gotten somewhat used to seeing it on Link’s arms, this scattered coating was certainly a novel development. Maz Koshia wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. But he was determined to find out. Swallowing, the monk then glanced at the Guidance Stone, mentally preparing himself for whatever his tests would find, if anything.

But he would start with Link’s Malice first. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to study it up close.

Though eager to commence with his work, Maz Koshia’s pencil stopped for a moment, his gaze latching onto Phantom Ganon as he slunk by for the third time.

The monk’s lip curled, his grip tightening on his pencil till it creaked. Like Link, he shivered at the blatant idolization in the spirit’s eye. It was disturbing. Nauseating. Desperate as he was to wipe that hungry look off the spirit’s proverbial face, Maz Koshia knew very well that that would only incite more friction with him. And that was the last thing they needed. The last thing _Link_ needed. Especially today.

The monk sighed. He would just have to tolerate the spirit as best he could. To keep the peace. But, as with everything pertaining to Phantom Ganon, that would prove easier said than done.

Maz Koshia finally wrenched his gaze from the spirit, focusing on the task at hand. On Link. Shifting his stance, he pocketed his notebook and tucked his pencil behind his ear. “Right then,” he announced, resting his hands on his jutting hip bones. “I think it’s about time we began.”

Link squirmed, his heart trembling. Purah and Symin perked up, raring to assist. But Phantom Ganon skidded to a stop mid-prowl. His eye flew from Link and to Maz Koshia, the adoration in his gaze effervescing into something akin to curiosity.

The last time they had run tests like these, Phantom Ganon hadn’t had the best of views, mainly listening in on their work from within the Sheikah Slate. Restless as he was for the coming night, the spirit was rather curious as to what the monk would do — what he would find.

A grin glinted on Phantom Ganon’s fangs. “...Now this I’ve gotta see,” he mused, crossing his arms.

Before Maz Koshia could begin, he paused, exchanging a long glance with Phantom Ganon. His face twitched at the spirit’s interest. Something about it seemed… uncharacteristic of him.

When the monk failed to move, Phantom Ganon insisted, raising a hand, “Oh, but please, don’t wait around on my account. Do what you must.” With a sparkle in his eye, he plucked the Sheikah Slate off his hip, glancing at the hour. “I’ve got some time to kill before the big show tonight.”

Both Link and Maz Koshia shivered as the Malice within them curdled in unison — almost as if in anticipation of the spirit’s words. Link sucked in a gasp as his Malice shimmered with light, twisting; Maz Koshia gagged, his hand flying to his burning throat. Purah and Symin stiffened at their reactions.

Maz Koshia’s face drained. Frightening though the movement within him was, he wasn’t minding his own internal stirrings, nor the thrill in Phantom Ganon’s eye. His gaze remained locked onto Link as he bared his teeth, his sludgy knuckles bulging against the pedestal’s sides.

Maz Koshia’s chest hollowed out at the sight. At Link, writhing against that poison. It was wrong. _All_ wrong. And Maz Koshia had to understand it. To get rid of it, somehow… before it got any worse.

Giving himself a shake, Maz Koshia swallowed his unease, setting himself to work. Turning, he took a pair of smelter’s gloves and a vial from Symin, slipping them on and uncorking the vial.

Link straightened as Maz Koshia approached him. Putting on a warm smile, the monk began, “All right, hero, before we run any tests, I would like to take a quick sample of your Malice, if I could.” He waggled the vial. “I think it might help with our analysis.”

Phantom Ganon’s head cocked. “Interesting…” he murmured, resuming his circling.

But Maz Koshia ignored him. Meanwhile, Link’s eyes followed the spirit for a moment before he blinked and fanned his hands, his eyes falling onto the spotty poison slathering his palms. His lips pursed as memories of his first tests leaked into his mind. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed being cut open and studied, but he was nevertheless willing to go along with whatever Maz Koshia required of him.

Link eventually gave a nod, reassuring the monk, but mostly trying to reassure himself. “Okay,” he breathed.

Despite his nod of approval, Link’s unease wasn’t lost on the monk. His smile softened with sympathy as he comforted him, “Don’t worry — no needles, no knives, no other samples. Just this vial, and the Guidance Stone’s test is all. Nothing you haven’t endured before.”

Link swallowed, sitting up a little straighter. Somehow, Maz Koshia always knew just what to say to ease his torrid mind. Offering up a sludgy hand, Link nodded. “All right. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent. Hold still, now…”

Everyone’s gazes were fixed to them as Maz Koshia took Link by the wrist, scraping the vial across the thickest section of his Malice — the crook of his elbow. Unlike last time, the process was painless. Corking the sample, Maz Koshia gave it a quick look-over. Before he could pass it to Purah for analysis, Phantom Ganon shuffled up as if in a trance, crowding Symin into the monk’s shoulder.

Symin whimpered, shrinking in Phantom Ganon’s shadow. But the spirit was too enamored by Link’s sample to care. He fed his gaze on it, drooling, “Thing of beauty, isn’t it...?”

Maz Koshia’s lip twitched. He leaned away, grunting stiffly, “Quite.”

His throat itching, he handed the sample to Purah. As she scampered off, Maz Koshia took Symin by the shoulder, easing him away from Phantom Ganon as if backing away from a snarling dog. But the spirit didn't seem to notice, his gaze returning to Link, who averted it. After allowing the Symin a moment to recuperate, Maz Koshia politely requested that he take notes as he commenced with his examinations.

Symin obliged, watching and listening closely. Taking Link by the arm again, Maz Koshia analyzed the sludge painting his skin with disturbed fascination; he smeared it between his fingers, measuring its thickness and viscosity down to the inch. He even studied its smell — smoky and sickly-sweet, like scorched, putrid fruit. Making a face, he notated his findings to Symin, filling several pages.

A shudder took Link’s spine as the monk worked. But it wasn’t one of discomfort. It was… rather soothing. Familiar. Despite the hazards that Link’s Malice posed to him, the monk’s touch was gentle, methodical. Like a father tending to his child’s scrapes. Link’s shoulders slouched, the latent anxiety in his gut simmering down at the monk’s careful handling of him.

Astonishingly, Link’s Malice followed, however subtly. As closely as Maz Koshia was inspecting him, only he witnessed Link’s Malice shiver and slow its subtle shifting.

Maz Koshia’s eyes widened. Goddesses above, he was on to something. After seeing what their trip to Satori Mountain had done to Link’s Malice, in addition to this subtle change, the monk knew that he was _definitely_ on to something. A grin tugged at Maz Koshia’s mouth as he brushed his thumb along Link’s wrist. Link melted a little at his touch, releasing a sigh.

But Phantom Ganon was far from impressed. He had since stopped pacing. His shadowy body broiled as he watched the monk so casually — so _easily_ — touch his master, and all without Link flinching away. Phantom Ganon couldn’t so much as _breathe_ on Link without making him recoil. It wasn’t fair.

Tempting as it was to shove Maz Koshia off of Link, the spirit reined in his temper. He just had to put up with this… _nonsense_ until midnight. When he’d have Link all to himself. But he could hardly wait. Still, his frustrations weren’t stowed. His chains rattled, earning nervous looks from Purah and Symin.

Fortunately, nothing violent came of it. For the moment.

“Are you done yet?” Phantom Ganon growled.

Maz Koshia fought off a snarl at his impatience. “Almost,” he replied, turning to Purah as she rejoined them. “Could you run the scan please, Director? I think we’re ready for you now.”

“On it,” Purah replied, tapping instructions into her Slate Lite.

Everyone flicked their gazes up to the Guidance Stone as it sighed with brilliant blue light. Familiar as the procedure was by that point, Link still flinched when the drop of light splashed against his scalp, seeping into him. His teeth chattered as a sharp chill shot through his body, cooling his veins and making his toes curl.

As quickly as the sensation came on, however, it immediately dissipated. Light soon began collecting on Link’s heels. Purah hurried up to him, collecting the liquid data onto her Slate Lite. As soon as she had gathered it, Maz Koshia knelt, tucking his head close to catch a glimpse of the glyphs that promptly flooded the screen.

Link, Symin, and Phantom Ganon craned their necks for a better look. The group took in the data in silence. Though the massive influx of glyphs was nothing unexpected, the sheer amount was still astounding to behold. Phantom Ganon’s eye, especially, glittered with stupefaction before his gaze trailed back to Link, to his bones, his Malice.

_So much to admire beneath that skin of yours…_ he purred in Link’s mind.

Another shudder ripped through Link, curdling him to his very blood. He slapped a hand against his temple, gasping as something inside him seemed to revel in Phantom Ganon’s words.

Maz Koshia’s head shot up. He took in Link’s squirming with a brief flicker of panic before his gaze flew to Phantom Ganon. Maz Koshia immediately knew what was happening when he caught the renewed worship glittering in the spirit’s eye. His lip curled.

“Right,” he snapped, seizing everyone’s attention. “That’s that.” He flew to his feet, shuffling closer to Link, trying to block him from Phantom Ganon’s view. Link leaned toward him, shaking.

Phantom Ganon shook himself out of his trance. That hadn’t taken as long as he thought it would. He glanced from the Slate Lite in Purah’s hands to the monk. “Now what?” he asked.

“Now, we wait,” the monk replied.

Phantom Ganon stiffened ever so subtly at that, his jaw twitching. “ _Wait?”_ he repeated. “F-for how long, exactly?” His eye flashed, his voice donning a demonic snarl. “It better not interfere with tonight, _monk.”_

Maz Koshia shrugged off his threats. “It won’t,” he promised, raising a hand to appease him. “But if it’s anything like last time, it will take an hour, at least.” His brow wrinkled as he cast a glance at Link’s Malice. Link met his gaze, whereupon they exchanged frowns. “But with his Malice manifesting like this, I fear it might take more...” the monk murmured.

Both Link and Phantom Ganon stiffened at that — for different reasons.

With another sigh, Maz Koshia continued, “I suppose we’ll just have to — ”

But his words suddenly caught. He lurched forward, a bout of guttural, barking coughs ripping from his throat. Each cough pummeled the monk’s battered ribs like a sledgehammer, the seams of his re-glued bones grinding. Everyone jolted when he threw his hand over his mouth, a particularly violent, chunky cough sending him crashing to his knees.

Horror flushed Link’s blood. Gasping, he threw himself off the pedestal and knelt before Maz Koshia, Purah and Symin following his suit. They crowded around him as he wheezed into his glove; Symin laid a hand on the monk’s spasming back, trying to calm him down.

“Maz!” Link cried. “Maz?!”

The monk didn’t reply. He couldn’t. But someone else did.

“Oh dear, dear,” Phantom Ganon mused darkly, strolling closer. “Someone’s not sounding good.” He stood casually above them, a not-so-subtle smirk twisting his fangs. “Gosh, I sure hope he’ll be able to run his scans. I certainly would hate to see them interrupt the festivities tonight...”

Link’s head snapped up. His spine rattled when he met the spirit’s uncaring gaze, his utter disregard for Maz Koshia. It was as horrifying as it was infuriating.

Link’s brow twisted into a caustic glare. “He’ll be fine,” he spat. Forcing the spirit out of his mind, Link returned his attention to the monk. “B-breathe, Maz,” he urged, leaning forward. “C’mon. Just breathe.”

“Oh, _marvelous_ advice,” Phantom Ganon droned.

Fortunately, Maz Koshia managed to weather his fit. With a grunt, the monk stabilized himself against the stage with one hand, burrowing his fingers into the bandages on his chest with the other. Link leaned in further, searching his strained face expectantly.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Maz Koshia cleared his throat, nodding. “I-I’m all right,” he croaked, shooting his company a smile, one eye closed. Phantom Ganon’s smirk flickered. With a wince, Maz Koshia rubbed his side, continuing, “I just... need more painkillers, is all. I think they’ve run their course.” Swallowing, he made a face, adding, “That, and perhaps something to suck on…”

Link immediately shuffled closer, all but forgetting his examinations. “We’ll get whatever you need, Maz,” he urged, nodding. “C’mon, let’s sit you down. You need to rest.”

Maz Koshia smiled, draping an arm around Link’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathed.

The monk leaned heavily on Link as he lifted them to their feet. But before Link could usher them off the stage, Phantom Ganon shot forward, attaching himself to Maz Koshia’s other arm. Everyone immediately froze, eyes trained on the spirit.

But he had his gaze riveted to Maz Koshia. “Please, allow me,” he crooned, his voice cloying with condescension. “I _love_ helping.” He leaned into Maz Koshia’s face. “Let’s get you taken care of, old man.”

The spirit never gave Link the chance to protest before he practically wrenched Maz Koshia’s shoulder from its socket, hauling them off the stage and toward the table. Link kept up their pace, both out of necessity for Maz Koshia, and his own outrage. His flaming gaze flickered between Maz Koshia and Phantom Ganon; the monk’s expression was rigid, his mouth fixed in a line. Exchanging a manic glance, Purah and Symin followed, dispersing to the pantry and medicine cabinet.

Finally, the trio reached the table. Link pulled out a chair, helping Maz Koshia ease himself into it. Phantom Ganon loosened his death grip on the monk, cocking his head at a distressing angle and looming over him. The monk sank into his chair, massaging his shoulder, trying his best to ignore him.

Phantom Ganon’s eye glittered. “There now,” he purred. “Better?”

Maz Koshia met his gaze through the corner of his eye. He dug his nails into his skin. “Yes,” he replied lowly. After a second, he spat, a tad begrudgingly, “Thank you... for your concern.”

A toxic grin spread the spirit’s fangs. With all the comforting touch of a sword point, Phantom Ganon reached out and roughly patted Maz Koshia on the cheek. Maz Koshia’s eyelids fluttered with each smack, his nostrils flared. Somehow, he managed to rein back the boiling tsunami of vexation mounting behind his wooden expression.

But Link’s gut seethed with revulsion at Phantom Ganon’s stunt, igniting a fire in his blood. He lurched forward, his eyes and Malice flashing with vindictive light. Before he could stop himself, he tore around the back of Maz Koshia’s chair, nearly throwing himself at the spirit. But Maz Koshia’s hand shot out, forcing him back.

Phantom Ganon’s smoldering gaze flickered between the two of them. Fortunately, the spirit had satiated his appetite. For the moment.

He chuckled at Maz Koshia, jeering, “Awww, anything for you, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything else.”

It went quiet for several stagnant moments. The very air seemed to bear down upon them all. Finally, Link gave a huff, growing tired of this. They had more important things to deal with. He whipped his head about, eyes scouring the lab, growling, “Where are those painkillers?”

“I-I’ve got them here,” Symin shakily interjected, stealing everyone’s attention. He came forward with a tall amber bottle and a spoon, Purah on his heels with a bowl of honey candy. Uncorking the bottle, he carefully poured a spoonful of painkiller for Maz Koshia, handing it to him.

The spoon shook ever so slightly as the monk lifted it to his lips. The medication numbed his tongue as he swallowed it, radiating down his throat. But Symin had no sooner made to stop up the bottle before Maz Koshia held the spoon out again.

“A bit more,” he requested. His breath hitched. “Please.”

Phantom Ganon’s eye sparkled, though nobody noticed. They were all staring at Symin as he blinked, glancing at the bottle. It was the strongest stuff they had. Still, he complied, pouring Maz Koshia another spoonful. Link watched him down it with a flutter in his gut, his choler rotting into dread. He distinctly remembered Maz Koshia only taking one spoonful the night before.

But Symin distracted him before he had the chance to consider the implications of it. Symin swilled the bottle of painkillers before his face, frowning at their dwindling supply. He corked the bottle, murmuring, “I’ll have to pick up more of this...”

Maz Koshia swallowed, rubbing his throat. “Thank you, Symin,” he breathed, offering him a grateful bow of his head. He then offered Purah another bow as he took a honey candy, popped it into his mouth, and slumped into his chair, releasing a slow sigh through his nose.

Link leaned forward, inspecting him. He swallowed. “You good?” he wondered.

Maz Koshia nodded. “I am now.” He chuckled. “You worry about me too much,” he chided playfully, brushing his knuckles along Link’s cheek. Link nuzzled his cheek into the monk’s hand, a weak smile relieving his lips.

But Phantom Ganon reacted as though he had been electrocuted, watching them. With a powerful, full-body twitch, he slammed his hand against the table, making everyone jump.

He smeared his fingers through his hair. “R-right — I’m gonna… I’m gonna go check on something....” he stammered.

Stepping forward, he reached out to seize Link by the shoulder, to pull him away from Maz Koshia. But the spirit caught himself. He was heading to the beach — where he would be training Link later that night. With everything already laid out, he didn’t want to prematurely spoil his surprise for his master. Though it was torture him to leave the two alone, he had no choice. Hopefully — for Phantom Ganon, at least — he wouldn’t be gone long.

Ensuring the Sheikah Slate was still on his hip, Phantom Ganon sauntered up to Link. Purah and Symin stiffened; Maz Koshia sat up with some difficulty. But Link stood his ground as the spirit approached, glowering into his eye.

“I’ll be right back,” Phantom Ganon cooed, tapping Link on the nose. Link recoiled, but the spirit merely fired him a toothy grin. “Don’t go anywhere.”

After shooting Maz Koshia a split-second glare, Phantom Ganon pivoted on his heel and strode out of the lab. Link’s gaze never once left him as he went, even after he disappeared near the furnace for a moment, grabbing something and dragging it through the grass behind him. Something big and lumpy. With pecan-colored fur and a tail. Link’s face twitched, his stomach twisting. He had a faint idea of what it was.

Everyone gave a collective slouch when Phantom Ganon finally slipped out of sight. A shiver rattled Link’s body, jittering his spine and curdling his Malice. He ducked his head and stumbled back into the table, ingraining his fingers into his hair.

Purah and Symin shot him wary looks, but he thankfully didn’t see them. Maz Koshia immediately pulled himself to his feet despite the spike of pain in his chest, gathering close to Link. His withered gaze trailed down the sludge pulsating on Link’s arms till it landed on his eyes as he stared emptily into the floor.

“Link…” the monk murmured.

Link shook his head, drilling his fingers into his hair. “...I don’t know if I can make it till midnight, Maz...!” A sigh hissed through his clenched teeth. “Not with him.”

Maz Koshia’s shoulders sank. “I know,” he empathized, rubbing his chest. Casting a tired glance through the doorway, he continued, “He’s… certainly not making things easy today, is he?”

Easy was certainly an understatement. Perhaps it was Maz Koshia’s own irritation talking, but… something was different with Phantom Ganon today. Something uncanny. The spirit was more active than he had ever been, relishing in his freedom, pushing buttons and boundaries wherever he could.

But perhaps that was just his excitement for the Blood Moon showing itself? Making him more of a nuisance than usual? Even so, Maz Koshia had a nagging feeling that there was more to what he was observing than met the eye. He would have to monitor this thoroughly throughout the day — to monitor Link especially. The last thing he needed was Phantom Ganon getting to him.

Thankfully, the spirit had gone for the moment. But as draining as his presence was, his absence was somehow _worse._ It was both relieving and harrowing — that interlude of peace only served as a reminder that it would be inevitably broken by his return. And everyone in the room was well-versed in that notion.

But they had a bit of respite from the spirit for the time being. And Maz Koshia intended on making the most of it.

Everyone turned their gazes on him when he spoke up. “Well, it seems we’ve… got some time on our hands.” Link’s rigid posture melted when the monk reached around and smoothed his hand over his back, murmuring, “I think we ought to get some food in us. We have a long day of work ahead.” He leaned into Link’s line of sight, musing, “I’d wager you’re a bit hungry, yes?”

As if on cue, Link’s stomach crushed, giving a low rumble. His hands flew to his abdomen. A crooked grin found his mouth. “Y-yeah… a little,” he breathed. As if to contest his words, his stomach snarled even louder, making him cringe.

Maz Koshia chuckled, shooting Link a playful look. “I’d say you’re more than a _little_ hungry, hero. Let’s get you something to eat.” He eased out a light sigh. “I’m half-starved, myself.”

Symin perked up, wandering off. “Let me... see what we’ve got...”

“Why, thank you, Symin,” Maz Koshia mused.

Famished as he was, Link hesitated, the monk’s words from earlier drifting in his mind. He straightened, his brows furrowing. “But… what about my tests?” he wondered. “Didn’t you say they work best on an empty stomach?”

“They do work better, yes,” Maz Koshia agreed, shrugging. He gestured to the Slate Lite on the table, glyphs still blurring across its screen. “But we have our base test running; I can factor out any nutritional interference as we go.” A wicked light hinted his eye as he murmured, “Phantom Ganon… didn’t need to know that.”

Link took his chin back, agape at the monk’s own antics. It seemed dangerous, almost foolhardy, sneaking behind Phantom Ganon’s back like that. _Lying_ to him like that. But, at the same time, Link had to admit that it was rather thrilling. If anyone knew how to work around the spirit… it was Maz Koshia. He always knew what to do. Always.

A snort blasted out of Link’s nostrils, a smile upturning the corner of his mouth. Maz Koshia mirrored Link’s smile, but his face hardened as he continued with a wrinkle of his nose, “Besides, I did _not_ want you eating that… _carcass_ he made for you.” He shook his head. “No, you need something good, something balanced to get you through the day...” Thinking for a moment, he then cocked his head, an idea sparkling in his eyes. “Huh. How about a monastery specialty? What do you all say to some sticky seafood rice balls?”

Purah and Symin’s brows rose. “Ooh, yum! That sounds great!” Purah beamed. Symin nodded eagerly.

Tantalizing as the dish sounded, Link paused for a split-second. Monastery — he had never heard the monk mention that before. But his stomach didn’t give him any time to think it over. Link doubled over as his gut twinged with ravenous pain at the mere mention of food.

He winced, nodding vigorously. “Yes, please,” he grunted.

Maz Koshia gave a wheezy laugh, clapping Link heartily on the back. “That’s my boy.” He turned to Purah and Symin. “C’mon, everyone, let’s get cooking.”

They all more than happily obliged.

As Link tugged on a pair of trousers, grateful to be decent for a moment, Maz Koshia joined Symin at the pantry, giving their stock a cursory look. There wasn’t much, regrettably. Symin had yet to finish the shopping. At the monk’s request, Symin made up his grocery list and jotted down some ingredients they didn’t have on them — hearty bass, rock salt, seaweed sheets. He made sure to add painkillers to the list as well before gathering up his wallet and basket, heading out for the market.

Not wanting to be caught by Phantom Ganon, Maz Koshia quickly set to work. As Purah set the table, the monk heaved out a bulging burlap bag of rice from the pantry. He measured out a few cups-worth into a wok and retired to the backyard, Link following him. Link’s eyes glowed with an almost childlike awe as he watched Maz Koshia add a few cups of water to the wok and run his knobby hands through the rice, rinsing it. For some reason, the process was fascinating.

With the rice rinsed, Maz Koshia then covered it with extra water and set the wok on the furnace to boil. He took a step back, releasing a few coughs into the crook of his elbow. Link shuffled up to his side, face scrunched with worry, but thankfully, this bout wasn't anything too worrying.

After collecting himself, Maz Koshia turned to Link, offering him a smile. “Well, now that that’s underway,” he began. “What do you say to some meditation while we wait?” His eyes trailed down to Link’s Malice. “...Perhaps we could work a bit more on this?”

Link stared into his hands. He nodded. Returning his nod, Maz Koshia turned back and eyed the wok for a moment, his brow furrowing.

The pair jumped slightly when Purah ambled out of the lab. She seemed to read what was running through Maz Koshia’s mind. “You guys go ahead,” she said, coming forward and hopping onto a stool near the furnace. “I’ll watch the pot.”

The monk cocked his head. “Are you sure, Director?”

“Positive,” Purah replied, smiling and brandishing a wooden spoon. “Go do your thing.”

Maz Koshia gave her a deep bow of his head, thanking her. Turning, he laid his hand on Link’s back, ushering him off. “Come along, hero. I… need to do some praying, while we’re at it.”

A flutter of anxiety bloomed in Link’s chest at that. With everything that had happened that morning alone, he had almost forgotten his request to Maz Koshia — that he accompany him on his journey. The monk hadn’t agreed or disagreed; he needed to pray, to inquire of the Goddess first. Link swallowed, almost sick to learn his answer. But he nevertheless followed the monk as they strode to the back of the lab, seating themselves beneath the awning jutting from the wall.

Link and Maz Koshia faced each other. Before they could do anything, the monk cast a quick look around. Link wondered what he was doing for a moment, but it quickly dawned on him. After deeming the coast clear, Maz Koshia turned his attention to Link.

He sighed. “Now, then. How about another trip to Satori Mountain?” he proposed, smiling. “We can meditate there?”

Link nodded, scooting forward. “Yes, please.”

Maz Koshia beamed at his enthusiasm. Taking a breath, he wrung out his shaky hands, reaching for Link’s bone mask. Link closed his eyes, eager to go back to the mountain, to the solace and peace he had felt there. He almost craved it as much as the food they would cook up later.

But the monk’s hand never reached his mask. Link’s eyes fluttered open after a moment, whereupon he found Maz Koshia’s hand hovering before his face, a wrinkle twisting his brow.

“What’s wrong?” Link wondered.

Maz Koshia’s lips pursed. He closed his hand, pressing it to his mouth. His head sagged as he murmured, “I’m just… beginning to have second thoughts about this. About… going to the mountain. I don’t think it would be wise. Not now, anyway.” He frowned. “With Phantom Ganon doing… _whatever_ he’s doing… I doubt interrupting him again would go over well.”

Link blinked, his eyes wandering into the grass. He certainly hadn’t forgotten beholding the spirit stomp onto the mountain, interrupting their visit. His face — _Link’s_ face — so wracked with rage. It sent a shiver down his spine.

As always, Maz Koshia foresaw potential disaster before Link did. Link sighed, realizing the reality of it. “Makes sense…” he finally murmured.

Though it crushed him to deny Link, Maz Koshia knew it was for the best. Defeated, the monk shrugged, recapturing Link’s attention as he reassured him, “When this all blows over, I will happily take you back to the mountain.” Link smiled, as did the monk as he continued airily, “To anywhere you like, in fact. The realm of the mind knows no limits.”

Link’s brows lowered at that, his eyes widening. While the prospect of visiting virtually anywhere was a dumbfounding one, his brain suddenly itched with something the monk had said.

“You mentioned something about a monastery?” he wondered.

The monk gave pause. “I did mention that, didn’t I?” he mused. Link listened, images dancing in his mind as the monk explained, “There was a monastery, in my day. Where the monks lived and studied. I grew up there — at that great, cloistered building on the edge of Tabantha.”

His expression darkened some, but he tried not to let it show as he continued, “It’s… in ruins now. But I have many wonderful memories of my time there.” He snorted to himself. “Most of them in the kitchens. When I wasn’t in the lab or at the library, I was there, scraping off dishes and cooking meals for my fellow monks.”

He paused, smiling at the silent awe in Link’s expression. Shrugging, Maz Koshia showed his hands, musing, “Perhaps, Hylia willing, I could take you there? In person? Show you my old room, the lab where I built the Master Cycle? If you’re interested?”

Link perked up, his face brightening. To have a glimpse at the monk’s life, his history — a history that had captured Link’s fascination on the mountain. What a prospect that was! He wanted nothing more.

“No, I-I would love that, Maz!” Link beamed, nodding.

Maz Koshia smiled wider, only for it to flicker. He blinked, forcefully pulling himself out of his glimmering hopes. He rubbed his throat, murmuring, “That is… if I am allowed to accompany you, of course.”

Link’s heart suddenly chilled, his elation vanishing. There it was again. That sour reminder that Maz Koshia may or may not be able to travel with him. Link’s throat tightened at the thought of the monk leaving him behind… for a long journey alone with Phantom Ganon. His blood iced over. He didn’t want to even tease the thought.

It went quiet for a moment. Link met Maz Koshia’s somber gaze. “Has She said anything...?” Link eventually breathed. “...The Goddess?”

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid,” Maz Koshia mourned softly. He offered Link a sweet, reassuring smile. “But I haven’t had much time to pray. She is never one to keep me waiting, though; I will have my answer before the day is out.” Leaning back, he continued, “Speaking of… I ought to begin my prayers. Feel free to sit with me, to meditate, if you like. I would enjoy the company.”

Link, a bit of hope flickering in his eye, nodded, scooting closer to the monk’s side as they reoriented themselves to face the sea. Before he began his orations, the monk instructed Link gently, “Relax, now. Ease your mind, focus your breath. Try not to think about… tonight.”

Link’s Malice twitched. He nodded. Maz Koshia gave him one final smile. Sitting up straight, the monk then pressed his palms together prayerfully, closing his eyes and releasing a breath through his nose, quieting his thoughts.

Link sat for a moment, somewhat awestruck at the monk in his element. He was almost… mystical, sitting so still, so focused. But Link quickly shook it off, realizing he was staring. Shifting in his spot, Link mirrored Maz Koshia’s position. But the Malice coating his hands gave an off-putting _squelch_ when he pressed his palms together, startling them. Maz Koshia opened an eye, turning his head slightly.

Link, his cheeks burning, unstuck his hands and shoved them into his lap, shrinking in on himself. “...Sorry,” he muttered.

Though the squelching of Link’s Malice sent a shiver into his neck, the monk shrugged it off. “That’s quite all right,” he cooed, patting Link’s knee.

Link hung his head at his touch, pinching his eyes shut. At times, his Malice was just as embarrassing as it was harrowing. But to Link’s gratitude, the monk didn’t seem to mind. He kept his hand on Link’s knee, opting to rest his other hand in his lap, palm skyward. His touch, as always, helped water down Link’s residual anxieties.

They sat in silence for a while as Maz Koshia prayed. The briny breath of the sea encircled them, warm midsummer sunlight warming their skin. Had Link been ignorant of tonight’s impending moon, he would have lied down and slept through the afternoon, completely at peace.

Even then, Link tried to do as the monk said. To meditate. Clear his mind. Hylia knew he had a lot to think about. But as he attempted it, he gradually found himself acutely aware of a strange, invisible… _noise_ clagging in his skull — a noise that the silence around him only exacerbated.

Only, it wasn’t noise at all. He couldn’t hear anything in his ears, in his mind. But all the same, _something_ stuffed his ears, something deafening yet nonexistent. It clogged his hearing, muddied his thoughts. He tried in vain to focus on anything besides the nebulous fog in his head and the subtle pulsations of his Malice.

But no matter how much he tried to ignore whatever was pervading his skull, the poison twitching on his arms, he couldn’t. It was inescapable, almost _heavy_ in his mind. Link grit his teeth, pressing his back against the lab and cupping his hands over his ears in a foolish attempt to silence it all.

Link’s movements roused Maz Koshia from his pious concentration. He reopened his eyes, returning to earth. He immediately whirled his head toward Link, giving his knee a squeeze.

Something was wrong. “Everything all right, hero?” the monk asked, his glowing eyes cloudy with concern.

Link jolted slightly at the monk’s voice as it pierced the strange noise in his ears. He realized with a start that he was trembling. Swallowing, he searched the monk’s eyes for something he couldn’t name. “I… I don’t know — ?” he stammered, only to cut himself off.

Something had seized his attention. A sound — a real sound — had drifted into his stuffy ears. Link exchanged a bewildered glance with Maz Koshia. “Do you hear that?” he asked, half-wondering if this was all still in his head, somehow.

But Maz Koshia had heard it too. Someone was shouting nearby. Two someones. And they didn’t sound pleased. Blinking, the monk peered over Link’s horns toward the village.

“Seems to be coming from the trail,” he said. Urging Link up, he continued, “Let’s have a look.” Without a word, he laid his hands across Link’s awaiting shoulders.

The two of them rose in tandem, shuffling toward the front yard. They paused at the cliff’s edge, overlooking the switchbacks trailing up the hillside from Hateno below. A slew of ancient lanterns dotted the path to the lab, blue flames flickering in their mantles. Two figures stood near one of them down the way, their voices carrying through the air as they argued.

Link didn’t need to hear their voices to recognize the bright pink trousers and ivory coat of Bolson and Symin. Link and Maz Koshia exchanged a glance before they leaned forward, training their ears in. Not that Bolson and Symin’s conversation wasn’t difficult to overhear. They caught the last fragments of their argument.

“ — this is private property, Bolson!” Symin cried, gesturing to the dirt. “You of all people should understand that!”

“Don’t you sass me!” Bolson fumed, shoving an object into Symin’s face — a small spyglass. “I know you’re up to something! I don’t know _what_ you think you’re doing up there, but I’m gonna find out!”

Symin muttered something that Link didn’t catch before he shook his head, turning his back and plodding up the hill.

But Bolson wasn’t finished with him yet. He stomped his foot and waved his spyglass, hollering, “Mark my words, Symin! I’m gonna find that mummy you’re hiding and I’m gonna prove it to EVERYONE! You’ll see!”

Symin ground to a halt, twisting around and waving an arm at Bolson. “Keep your day job!” he shouted. “And stay off our property, you hear me?! Don’t make me call Thadd on you again!”

Bolson stared after Symin for a moment before he threw his hands up and rent the air with a roar, whirling around and stomping down the hill. Thankfully, Symin had left him so riled, he never once paused to peer into his spyglass to catch a glimpse of the selfsame mummy watching over him.

Maz Koshia cringed. “Oh, dear…” he breathed, giving Link’s shoulder a nervous clench. Link turned his head up at him as he bemoaned, “I think I may have caused more harm than good with that little stunt of mine…”

Though Link could certainly see where both he and Bolson were coming from, said stunt was nevertheless a cathartic one in his mind. A happy memory. A grin upturned his lips as he looked back on it — at the monk saving him from another hectic villager encounter. He would never forget it.

Link couldn’t stop a snort from blasting out of his nostrils. “You’re not hearing any complaints from me,” he said.

Inasmuch, Maz Koshia wrung out a wry grin, changing the subject. He shrugged, sighing. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that now… What’s past has passed.” After a brief pause, he turned to Link. “Anyway, I’ve made my orations. I’ll let you know the minute I hear Her answer.”

Both Link and Maz Koshia’s eyes glimmered with anticipation for a moment. But the monk’s soon dimmed with worry. He took Link by the cheek and studied his face, wondering, “Are you sure you’re all right? You… startled me before. Was something bothering you?”

Link’s throat tightened, his humors fading at the reminder. He paused, retreating into his head for a moment to try and pinpoint that strange, murky noise. But he found that his head had cleared, his ears uncongested. As quickly as whatever-that-was had come on, it was gone now.

Link shook his head, dismissing it. “I’m fine,” he said, rapidly convincing himself. “Just… couldn’t concentrate is all.”

The pair locked gazes for a moment. Something nagged at Maz Koshia. But he wasn’t certain what it was. With a smile, the monk dropped it, gesturing toward the lab. “Nerves, no doubt. Well, come along, then — we ought to check on the rice.”

With that, the pair doubled back, rejoining Purah just as Symin arrived in the front yard with his basket of groceries. Stood on her tiptoes on the stool, Purah stirred the steaming wok. She cast her head over her shoulder as her company approached.

She brightened, about to greet them, when Symin strode up to the furnace and dumped his basket on the grass, grumbling, “The nerve of that guy! I swear…!”

Purah blinked, giving a light giggle. “What’s this? Sayge _dyeing_ to color your coat again?”

Symin shook his head, brows so low they bunched against the rims of his glasses. Link was rather taken aback by his demeanor. He had never seen him like this.

With a huff, Symin unpacked his groceries, griping, “No, it’s Bolson. I caught him spying on the lab just now.”

Purah jolted on the stool, her musings vanishing. Her brows hit her hairline. “Wait, he _what?”_ she gasped. “Y-you’re kidding!”

Symin shook his head, eyes wide with exasperation.

Purah leaned forward, gawking, “Did he see me?!” But she had no sooner said so when a rush of horror drained her face. Her eyes flicked to Link and Maz Koshia. “Did he see anything _else?!”_ she squeaked.

Link’s heart skipped a beat beneath her frantic stare. He hadn’t had the time to consider it as he listened in on their brief argument, but he shuddered to imagine the things Bolson might have been privy to if he had been spying on them. A lot had happened at the lab since Link had first arrived in Hateno. His Malice resurging, Phantom Ganon’s… introductions. Link would have rather forgotten most of it, let alone invite an audience to behold it. Bolson in particular.

Thankfully, Symin pursed his lips. “Not that I can gather, no,” he replied, almost relieved. He gestured to Purah. “He doesn’t know about this.” Pausing, he then gestured to Link and Maz Koshia. “But, unfortunately, he knows about… _some_ of this.”

Link clamped his hands over his sludgy forearms, shifting his feet. Maz Koshia hung his head as another wave of guilt washed over him. It went quiet for a moment as they all stewed over the prospect of their recent events leaking out. Hylia only knew what sort of chaos and panic might ensue. Link, especially, felt somewhat sick at the thought.

But another realization hit him then, diverting his thoughts. Based on what Purah and Symin were saying, it seemed as though the villagers below didn’t know about Purah’s botched experiment, either. They still assumed she was an old woman. A bizarre thought, but he wasn’t able to ruminate on it.

“Yes, but even then,” Maz Koshia interjected quietly, stirring Link from his thoughts. “We don’t want him prodding any further. The last thing we need right now is more attention drawn to us. We’ll have to lay as low as we can.” He frowned, his eyes flickering for a split-second to Link’s Malice. Averting his gaze, the monk added, laying a hand on his chest in regret, “My apologies, Symin. It’s my fault that he’s so… wound up.”

Symin sighed, his tensions fizzling. “It’s all right, Maz. You did what you had to.”

Purah shrugged. “If we can handle some curious kids, I’m sure we can handle Bolson. We’ll be fine. We’ll just… have to keep being careful.”

Link wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but he didn’t give it much thought as Maz Koshia smiled upon them.

“We will be,” he said. “I know it.” After a moment, the monk blinked, his gaze wandering to the wok on the furnace. He nodded to Purah, looking to change the subject. “How is the rice looking, Director?”

Shaking off her unease, the girl brightened. “Oh! Nice and fluffy,” she said, spooning out a clump of sticky, steaming rice. “Check it!”

“Perfect,” Maz Koshia beamed, turning to Symin. “How about we get that fish steaming, hm? The sooner the better. I’m starved!”

Symin shed his frustrations, quickly returning to his usual self. He held up a pair of meaty fish with spotted, steel-blue scales. “You got it,” he replied.

Now more hungry than anxious, the four of them gathered around the furnace, preparing the rest of their ingredients. Maz Koshia exchanged the wok for a bundle of whole hearty bass wrapped in leaves, letting them steam. Link had to fight to contain his snarling stomach as it nearly climbed out of his throat while they waited.

But at length, everything was ready. With the rice and fish cooked, the group brought the food into the lab. Symin and Purah helped Maz Koshia set out a workstation of sorts on the table, with bowls of water and salt. Over the next little while, they busied themselves with hand-rolling a slew of rice balls, filling them with flaky, steamed fish and wrapping them with seaweed sheets.

Sadly, Link had no choice but to watch, what with his poisonous hands. His knee bounced; he ran his tongue over the scab on his lip, stomach growling. All the while, they tried to keep the mood light, trading jokes and laughing at their sticky hands and lumpy rice balls. Even Maz Koshia’s were misshapen, but he chalked that up to being out of practice for ten thousand years. Filling a platter with the fruits of their labor, they tidied up and were finally ready to eat.

Upon blessing the food, Maz Koshia invited them all to dig in. Link didn’t hesitate, snatching up a fork and scoffing down three rice balls without pausing to so much as breathe. The rice and seaweed were warm and pleasantly stodgy in his mouth, the fish briny, piping hot. Thankfully, they had plenty to go around. Maz Koshia smiled, pouring a cup of tea for him and scooting some more rice balls his way.

As he ate, Link all but forgot about the sludge on his arms, the strange clouds that had filled his skull, the dread of the coming night looming above his head. They all did, finally enjoying a bit of peace for the first time in days.

But that quickly rotted when the front door abruptly swung in.

Everyone’s heads whirled toward the doorway, whereupon Phantom Ganon strolled in, his spear balanced across his shoulders. Something wet slicked the tips of his spear blades. The carcass he had dragged off was nowhere to be seen.

The food in Link’s stomach immediately turned to stone at the sight of the spirit. He rocketed to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. With a wince, Maz Koshia flew to his feet as well, casting himself in front of Link, hiding him from the spirit’s view. Purah and Symin, meanwhile, cowered into their chairs, petrified.

This was it. He was back. They’d been caught.

Everyone’s gazes locked onto Phantom Ganon as he trilled, “Aaaaand that’s taken care of! Now all that’s left to do is wait for… midnight.” He came to a sudden stop, going stiff. It went quiet for a moment before the spirit cocked his head.

“...What’s all this?” he wondered, his voice low.

Maz Koshia forced on a smile. “Lunch,” he replied, endeavoring to keep his voice light, casual. “We were just finishing up.” Turning, he began to gather up plates. Purah and Symin quickly followed his lead, picking up utensils and cups, despite their unfinished meal.

Though he tried to remain calm, Maz Koshia still stiffened when Phantom Ganon’s footsteps boomed against the floor as he sped toward the table. Everyone tensed for the inevitable bomb that was about to go off.

“Well now, no need to dine and dash on me,” the spirit snarked. “What’s on today’s menu, huh?” He stormed up to the table, eying their spread, before a disgusted snort blasted out of him. He shot Maz Koshia a dirty look, scoffing, “What is this crap? Rice and _fish?_ What was wrong with the deer I brought back?”

Maz Koshia’s eyelid twitched. “Nothing,” he lied. “It was just… unavailable — ”

“Oh, sure, _now_ you tell me,” Phantom Ganon snarled. He waved an arm toward the wall. “After I’ve gone and fed those stupid monsters! _God…!”_

Maz Koshia’s brow furrowed at that. The was the last thing he expected out of the spirit’s mouth. But he never got the chance to inquire further. The spirit’s eye then caught the four plates in the monk’s hands. Four. Not three. He quickly put two and two together. Breathless, he slowly turned his gaze on Link behind Maz Koshia’s back.

The spirit’s eye ignited. “...Not hungry, are you?”

“Phantom — ” Link tried to say.

But he cut off when Phantom Ganon slapped the plates out of Maz Koshia’s hands, knocking them to the table with a crash. The spirit surged forward, trying to get around Maz Koshia, to dive for his dishonest master. But the monk squared his shoulders, darting before the spirit, his expression steely as he kept Link behind him.

Phantom Ganon glowered at Link over the monk’s shoulder. “So let me get this straight,” he growled. “I have _never_ lied to you, _Master._ So why is it you felt the need to lie to _me?”_

Maz Koshia didn’t allow Link the chance to fight back — he had to keep him calm. He had to keep _everyone_ calm. He held up a hand, hoping to stave off Phantom Ganon’s wrath. “Leave him be, spirit,” he urged. “It was at my insistence that he refused you.” He shook his head, gesturing to the Guidance Stone. “I only want accurate data.”

The spirit whirled his blazing eye on him. He threw his arms up. “Oh ho, so all that about testing him on an empty stomach was just a load of crap then?”

Despite the spirit’s tone, the monk remained collected. He ironed out a glare threatening his brow, explaining calmly, “They do work better on an empty stomach, and I intend to account for that. He had his first test — a control test.” The spirit’s jaw worked as he spoke. The monk continued, shaking his head, “But I couldn’t starve him all day — the boy needed to eat. We all did.”

Phantom Ganon drew his chin back, agape at what he was hearing. At what the monk thought he knew. “And just what do _you_ know about his needs?” he scoffed, gesturing to the table. “Shitty food and a pat on the head? God, gimme a _break!”_

Maz Koshia’s face twitched, his chest panging with something akin to shame. Link’s eyes flew from the indignant spirit and to the monk as he wilted slightly. He had heard enough. More than enough. Maz Koshia didn’t deserve this.

Link stormed forward. “That’s enough, Phantom!” he snarled, capturing the spirit’s attention. He shook his head. “What do you care, anyway? You can’t even eat!”

Phantom Ganon cocked his head, growling, “That’s not the point, Master.” He stabbed a finger at the monk, making him cringe back. “It’s not _fair. He_ can feed you, but _I_ can’t — _he_ can touch you, but _I can’t!”_ He curled his hands into fists as the two of them gawked, backing up slightly.

Scowling the monk from head to toe, the spirit shoved his face into Maz Koshia’s, continuing with a growl, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting all touchy-feely with him as of late! Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?!”

The monk scowled, drawing his chin back. There was a brief pause before he scrounged up his words. “...I'm not playing at anything,” he dismissed stiffly. “I’m only trying to help. That’s what I’m here for — ”

“No no no, that’s what _I’m_ here for,” Phantom Ganon corrected icily, slapping a hand against his chest. “ _You_ were only supposed to teach him to swing a sword. This,” he snarled, snatching up Link’s sludgy forearm and yanking him toward him, despite his squirming, “ _All_ of this — is _my_ job. Mine. So _back off.”_

Quick as a lightning strike, Phantom Ganon lunged and thrust his palm into Maz Koshia’s chest, punching the breath out of him. The monk’s head snapped forward, his chin hitting his chest. He immediately broke into a coughing fit, crashing into a chair and clutching his bandages.

Link, Purah, and Symin gasped, jolting. Link wrenched his arm free of Phantom Ganon’s hold, surging for the monk. “Maz!” he wheezed.

A flood of toxic outrage swelled in Link’s gut at the monk’s struggling. His Malice twisted, giving a heavy _thud._ But he didn’t have time to let his emotions past the floodgates.

Phantom Ganon barely gave the monk a moment to collect his breath before he stomped forward and towered over him, snarling, “Know your place, monk — or I’ll beat it into you.”

Maz Koshia sank into the back of the chair, his breath choked and choppy in the wake of his attack. But even so, a dirty smirk flickered on his lips. He raised his head, meeting Phantom Ganon’s glare.

The monk snorted. “That _is_ your job, isn’t it?” he teased.

Phantom Ganon’s eye smoldered with temptation. But before he could give in, a sudden chirp shocked the tense atmosphere. The Slate Lite flashed on the table, wrenching their attention to it, as if trying to stop Phantom Ganon from doing any further damage.

Purah squeaked at the notification. Blinking back into lucidity, she swallowed, risking a glance at the Slate Lite. “...D-data’s here,” she murmured, her voice little more than a whisper.

Nobody moved for a moment. Though the data beckoned, everyone’s gazes simultaneously trailed back to Phantom Ganon, to see how he would react. He scoffed beneath their stares, straightening and taking in Maz Koshia and Link as they huddled beneath him. The weary scowl on the monk’s face was evidence enough that he had done his job, though he ignored the vindictive fire blazing in Link’s eyes.

Those eyes would be on him. Not the monk. Him. Soon.

The spirit turned on Maz Koshia, now bored of their spat. “Go ahead,” he snarled. “Play with your little toys, run your tests. But come midnight, you better stay outta my way.”

With that, he shouldered past him, nearly knocking Maz Koshia off of his chair. Thankfully, Link was there to hold him steady. After ensuring he was all right, they stared after Phantom Ganon for a moment as he stomped off, kicking over a stack of books as he went. He finally seated himself in the far corner, draping his spear across his lap. The spirit’s eye glowered wordlessly at them as he procured a stropping stone out of thin air and began to sharpen his weapon.

There was a brief pause before Maz Koshia slumped over, letting loose a few wheezy coughs. Link knelt beside him, the rage in his eyes immediately fizzling. After clearing his throat, the monk offered him as reassuring a smile as he could manage.

“C’mon,” he began, gesturing to the Slate Lite. “We ought to get another scan running.”

Under the burning scrutiny of Phantom Ganon, they did just that. After taking a moment to jot down the data from their initial scan, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Link gathered again on the stage. Symin stayed behind, cleaning up the remnants of their meal and sweeping up the broken plates as they worked.

Link averted his gaze from Phantom Ganon as he sat himself on the pedestal. Throughout it all, his head swilled with a draught of déjà vu. And though he was too distracted to notice it, that strange, nebulous noise crept inside his head again like a thin fog, just subtle enough that he never registered it.

With the scan complete and running, the trio retired to the table, pouring over Link’s data. For the most part, it was nothing remarkable. His vitals were stable, his heart rate fluctuating slightly — but again, Maz Koshia figured that was due to nerves. Link had certainly suffered through a less-than-relaxing few days.

No, the only notable return from their base scan was their analysis of Link’s Malice. Maz Koshia had had high hopes for it, but what came back was about as useless as it was intriguing. As sophisticated as they were, the lab’s analytical instruments didn’t seem to know how to read the dark, mysterious substance. All that came back on the screen was a shattered heap of Sheikah glyphs that none of them — not even Maz Koshia — could make sense of.

  
  


0̷̯͗1̶͙́0̴͈̈́0̶̺̅1̴̂͜0̵̬͗0̸͕̂1̷̲̓ ̷̦̽0̷̳̏0̴̝͝1̶̼̈́0̴̩͝0̵̭͝0̷̯̇0̵͕̒0̷̪͑ ̶̨͑0̴̭̿1̵̟̈1̷͍͆1̶̢͌0̶̬͊0̸̥̆1̷͓̒1̷̲͌ ̵̻̐0̵̙͠1̸̦̂1̵̗̄0̷̨̉1̶͔̃0̶̒͜0̸̞̈0̶̙̇ ̷̘͐0̷̭̈́1̸̡̓1̴̡̓0̵̥̃0̷͖̃0̴͇̎0̵͖̕1̷̡̛ ̶̀ͅ0̸͕͘1̶̬͊1̴̼̽0̴̧̉1̷̳̃1̸̬̄0̴̛̫0̶̩͑ ̸̠̊0̷͙̔1̶̰̔1̷̭́0̶̞̂1̵̥͝1̶̖0̶̟͝0̷̣̂ ̷̣̊0̴̦̉0̷̙̄1̸̬̎0̷̟̆0̵̣̌0̸͍̾0̷̧̂0̷̯̓ ̶̦̇0̷̤̿1̴͙̈1̵̪͝0̸͕̊0̶̝̏0̷̖̊1̶͔͌1̸̱͘ ̸̫̌0̸͕͑1̸̫̏1̷͙͊0̶̛̹1̶̱̈́1̶̼̈1̴̘̕1̵̺͆ ̷̭͆0̷̳̈́1̷̺͋1̴͉̌0̴̰̓1̵̩͗1̵̻͝1̸̥͋0̴̺̐ ̷̟0̶̥̃1̴͈̔1̵̫͘1̶̨0̵̜̔0̴̬̊1̷̠͐1̶̗̉ ̵̟͐0̸̭̑1̶̺̉1̷͖1̸̛͓0̶̮͠1̸̼̍0̶̞͝1̴̺̈́ ̶̣0̶͎̀1̴̥͆1̶̹̂0̵̬̈́1̸͜͝1̴̟̀0̶͇̉1̴͉͛ ̵͇̇0̷̻͛1̸̭͛1̴͈̕0̷̜̑0̷̭͠1̵̣͋0̸̬̓1̸͙͊ ̸̘̆1̴̠͝1̵̤̾1̷̰̇0̵̻0̸̢͝0̷̘͑1̸̻̕0̴̖̇ ̸̨͗1̵̞͑0̷̝͘0̵̦͝0̷̗̅0̸̦̅0̵̞̔0̵͍̈́0̴͖̀ ̶͈̎1̸̰̿0̴̺̂1̵̙̑0̸͇͛0̴̺̄1̸̙̆1̸̧͆0̷͖̈́ ̷͓̀0̴͈̈́0̸̤̎1̶̗̅0̶̹̈0̶̺́0̷̤̐0̴̮͆0̴͙̈́ ̶̻̕0̶͚̌1̸̲͛0̸͕̔0̴̜̃0̴̲̇0̷̧̍1̷̖͐1̴̫̚ ̸̟͝0̶̥1̷͔͛1̴̨͌0̷̩̾1̵̬̎1̷̬̀1̶͍̇1̶̼͋ ̷̫̿0̴͙͋1̴͕1̷̯̈́0̶̺̎1̷̗̏1̵̡̓1̸̲̅0̶̟̋ ̵̃ͅ0̷̻͊1̵̳̿1̵̙̈́1̸͓̂0̴͈̈́0̴͕̕1̸̟̓1̸͈̆ ̸̩͆0̸̮̚1̶̯̿1̵̥͆1̶̝͛0̶̯̊1̶͕̓0̷͙̾1̷̯̈́ ̶̞̂0̷̭͝1̶̱̆1̷͎̃0̵͉̌1̶̖̀1̴̱̅0̶̧͝1̸̰̒ ̶͇̔0̸̘͝1̴̥͠1̴͙̍0̸̜̀0̶̼̎1̸̟̽0̸͓̄1̴̡̂ ̵̦̆1̸̯̋1̶̱̐1̶̗̒0̴̡̋0̴̳̈́0̸͙͘1̵̝͋0̷͉̽ ̸̩͘1̴̦͑0̴̹̂0̵̳̓0̷̻͂0̶͇̍0̴̩0̵̣́0̴͕͋ ̶̬͘1̴̖͆0̴͚͠1̵̝̅0̵͙͆0̴̢̌1̸̲͊1̸͔̿0̷̺̋ ̴̫̈́0̵̮̊0̸̞̉1̶̘̔0̸̜͐0̴̧̈́0̴̻͆0̵͓͆0̸͎̓ ̶͚̓0̷̛̤1̶̱̕0̷̺̈́0̶̹̓0̴̬̐0̸̼̋1̵̽ͅ1̵͇̏ ̸̪͋0̵̭̎1̸̠͊1̷̹0̷͑ͅ1̵̖̽1̸͕̄1̴̭̀1̶̗̍ ̶̞̆0̷̲1̶̰͗1̷̞̏0̸̬̊1̷̧́1̷̼͒1̸͕̀0̴̳͌ ̴̦̋0̶̬̋1̶̣̕1̷̪̈1̴͍͗0̵͓͌0̸̟̽1̸̩͘1̶̣͝ ̶̟͠0̸͍̀1̴͇͋1̸̳̈́1̷̟͋0̶̡̅1̵̝̋0̶̘͘1̶̘̈́ ̴̼̍0̵̯͛1̸̠̏1̷͉̈́0̸̾͜1̷̧̽1̷̩̈́0̵̻̂1̶̩͝ ̸̻̔0̶͉̈́1̶̥͊1̴̹̽0̷̮͒0̴̡͛1̷̢͌0̷͕̉1̴͕ ̴͔̃0̴̎ͅ0̶̱̍1̶͎̍0̷͚͌0̸̪͊0̷̺̈́0̷̙̉0̷̳ ̶̳͒0̴̅ͅ1̸͎͂1̸͖͆0̷̲̐0̴̨͒1̵̧̓0̴̭͌1̷͉̔ ̷̭̄0̴̀͜1̷̰͗1̸͖͆1̷͎̚0̶͗ͅ1̷͍͝1̷͕̿0̵̭͂ ̸̮̂0̶͇̿1̷̰̊1̸̝͝0̸̡̔0̷͈͋1̷͇̑0̴̯͛1̸͕̄ ̷̨̑0̵̣̅1̶̠̅1̷̩͘1̷͇̈́0̷̩͗0̴̧̅1̷̼̕0̸̰̆ ̷͎͝0̸̞͆1̸̙̅1̷̫̓1̸͈̇1̵̞͝0̶̣͌0̷̱̄1̸͉̿ ̶͖̔0̶̣̏1̸̰̓1̶̫̽1̶̫̀0̴̱̄1̸̹̓0̶̰̋0̷̨͗ ̴͙̐0̶̥͊1̸̱̾1̶̥͑0̴̩̏1̷̮̓0̸̫̐0̶̭̃0̷͙̽ ̸͚͠0̴̼̇1̸͚̇1̸̫̿0̶͎͐1̴̙̌0̸̟̓0̷̧͗1̵͇͌ ̶͈̐0̴̰̕1̷̖̾1̶̤͗0̸͚̐1̴̑ͅ1̵̛̱1̴̗̉0̷̬͋ ̷͉̊0̸̞̎1̵͈̍1̷̘̒0̷̰͂0̵̝͒1̷̝̐1̸͖͝1̸̰̓ ̶̠0̵̳̉0̷̪̎1̸̢̐0̴̳̈́1̷̬̉1̴͖̐1̸̼̽0̸̬

  
  


Maz Koshia frowned into Slate Lite. “Huh,” he mused. “Not... what I was expecting.”

But whatever he was expecting, he never found. He couldn’t linger on the mess of glyphs. Not now. He had tests to run — and a lot of them.

And so the remainder of the day went. They waited. Tested. And waited some more. For Link’s tests to come back. For the Blood Moon to rise. For the spirit’s training. But time was neither on their side, nor against them. It seemed to simultaneously stop and soar as they anxiously watched the hours creep up.

Link wasn’t sure which he preferred — the death march, or the merciless current. But he tried not to consume himself with the thought of time, focusing instead on the regular tests Maz Koshia ran on him. Despite the occasional coughing fit, the monk became a well-oiled machine, keeping track of prior tests and executing new ones every few hours, monitoring every change, every nuance of Link’s results like a man possessed.

Though his mounting anxiety spiked his blood pressure a few notches, Link’s vitals remained surprisingly stable with each test that came back. But his Malice stirred more frequently. He gradually developed a headache from clenching his jaw. But even then, it wasn’t anything alarming — anything abnormal. The thought both worried and relieved Maz Koshia.

Moreover, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but he nevertheless was perturbed by what came. Rather, the _lack_ of it. Yet, throughout it all, their routine tests became something of a comfort to them as the day waned. But, like all good things, that comfort didn’t last.

It was half past eleven when Link found himself pacing back and forth, hugging himself, his eyes trained into the shining bones in his feet. As they waited for his latest tests to come back, his tongue stung with something metallic; he had unconsciously chewed his lip till his scab bled, blood dribbling down his chin. But he hardly noticed.

He certainly wasn’t the only one on edge. Phantom Ganon’s choler had since mellowed into an antsy simmer. He laid spreadeagle on the floor in the corner, rapping his fingers on his eye, checking the time on the Sheikah Slate every other minute.

Through the storm of anxiety blustering in his skull, Link thought he overheard the spirit grumble for the ability to speed up time, lamenting his lack of an instrument — and lips — to do so. Link had no idea what that was all about, but he didn’t care.

Meanwhile, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin sat at the table, scribbling down their latest findings from Link’s tests in the wide swath of notebooks and charts littering the tabletop. Purah and Symin had their noses buried in their work, scribbling in silence.

Purah finished transcribing Link’s vitals onto a chart, setting her pencil down. Leaning back, she took another swig of the coffee Symin had brewed. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced about the lab, her bleary gaze landing on Link as he paced, before traveling to the Guidance Stone. She then brought her eyes to the Slate Lite on the table, where it sat, idle.

Purah’s eyelids fluttered. She suddenly realized that they hadn’t run a new scan of Link yet. It had been a while. Maz Koshia had gotten their prior results, but had hobbled to the table, somewhat breathless, needing to sit down to write them out. Now, puzzled, Purah pulled her gaze from Link, looking to the monk, who had gone strangely quiet.

Her heart skipped a beat when she caught sight of the monk slumped face-down over the tabletop, forehead resting on his wrists. Strewn across the table were his notebooks, stubby pencils, crumpled handkerchiefs, a coffee cup, and his painkillers. Symin brought them to him hours before. One bottle lay on the table, empty; the other sat near his elbow, nearly dry as well.

Purah sat up. Something was wrong. “Maz?” she asked, breaking the tepid silence in the air.

The monk twitched, but didn’t respond. Symin and Phantom Ganon lifted their heads. Purah’s voice wrenched Link out of his mind. He ground to a halt, whirling his gaze toward Maz Koshia, only for his blood to ice over.

Abandoning his pacing, Link scrambled over. “Maz?!” he breathed.

He might as well have shouted into the monk’s ear — Maz Koshia sat bolt upright, sucking in a gasp that immediately caught in his throat. He doubled over, snatching up a handkerchief and burying his coughs into it. Link, Symin, and Purah gathered around, faces strained. Fortunately, after a moment or two, Maz Koshia caught his breath.

He ironed out a grimace as he faced Link. “What’s the matter?” he croaked, holding his chest. “A-are you all right?”

Link’s eyes were wide, almost vacant, as he stared at the monk. What was going on? He swallowed, nodding. “Y-yeah,” he said, shirking the monk’s concern. “What about you? You okay? Did you fall asleep?”

Maz Koshia struggled to blink off the sharp, staticky pain in his chest. “I’m fine,” he replied, grunting. “Just… resting my head.” His grimace softened when he spied the blood on Link’s chin. His shoulders sagged. “Link, y-you’re bleeding,” he murmured. “Here.” Raising his handkerchief, he took Link by the jaw and cleaned the blood dripping down his chin.

Balling up the handkerchief, he stole a quick glance to Link’s Malice, his glowing bones. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but both the sludge and Link’s bones seemed to be glowing... brighter. Swallowing, Maz Koshia looked to the Guidance Stone. Like Purah, he abruptly realized he had fallen behind on his tests.

Maz Koshia checked the time on the Slate Lite. He pursed his lips. They were so close. They had to keep going. With a motivating breath, Maz Koshia stabilized his hands against the table and heaved himself to his feet with a wheezy grunt. His knees shook, his sternum burning. Something stirred in his stomach as well.

But he tried not to let it show as he gently steered Link toward the stage, encouraging, “C’mon, we can run another test before midnight strikes.”

Purah and Symin were immediately at their side, Slate Lite and notes in tow. Phantom Ganon, meanwhile, watched them from where he lay in the corner. He glanced at the time, groaned, and thunked his head against the floor.

The group returned to the stage, though not with as much haste as they would have liked. Maz Koshia’s head hung as he clung to Link like a lifeline, dragging his feet. He was shaking like a leaf. Link gaped at him as the monk’s breath scratched in his ears, something inside him souring at his alarmingly-sudden dip in health.

“Maz, a-are you sure you’re okay?” Link wondered as the monk guided him to the pedestal, sitting him down. “You don’t look good.”

The monk swayed on his feet, quickly grabbing hold of Symin. He nodded, pulling on a smile, reassuring Link, “I’m fine.” Link was entirely unconvinced, but Maz Koshia kept him from protesting, inspecting his body. His smile hardened into one of determination. “We need to focus on you, hero,” he insisted, almost scolding him. “You are far more important than I.”

Link chest tightened at that.

After running another test, the group dispersed back to the table. To wait. Maz Koshia desperately needed more painkillers, his breath picking up. But Link never made it to the table. He paused in the middle of the room, making a face. A strange sensation had come over him from out of nowhere. He wasn’t sure if the room had always been this muggy, but the air seemed to adhere to his skin all of a sudden, his scalp and cheeks flushing.

Shifting his feet, he exhaled, looking toward the door. “I need some air...” he mumbled, making for the door.

Phantom Ganon suddenly shot bolt upright, his eye immediately finding Link’s back. A shudder rippled through his shadow body. He didn’t even need to check the clock to know what time it was.

“Finally,” the spirit sighed under his breath.

As if a siren were calling to him, he jumped to his feet, hovering after Link as he stepped out onto the front porch. Maz Koshia watched the spirit rush after Link, his stomach churning. He suppressed a retch. He flew to his feet as well, guzzling a mouthful of painkillers and hobbling after them, something noxious brewing in his gut. Purah and Symin threw down their notes, not far behind.

Oblivious to the commotion in the lab, Link stepped outside. The cool, playful night breeze tousled his hair and soothed his suddenly-sweltering skin. But as he left the warm light of the lab, he transformed into something… unrecognizable; he became completely skeletal in the darkness, his bones and his Malice beaming with a supernatural magenta light through his practically-invisible skin.

But he wasn’t paying any heed to the bizarre illuminations of his body. Far from it. The moment Link stepped outside, he automatically craned his face toward the heavens, gazing into the vast, inky-blue dome of the night sky unfurling above him, speckled with a tapestry of stars. On any other night, the sight would have been breathtaking. But Link wasn’t stargazing. He found himself involuntarily scouring the sky for something — something that he knew was rising, but had yet to see.

And then… he finally saw it.

Link’s jaw dropped, his heart giving a cold, dead _thud_ in his chest. Something was rising above the peaks of a snow-draped mountain range in the distance. Something that sent a frigid trickle of horror into Link’s blood, congealing it into tar in his veins.

A great disc of crimson light crawled into the heavens, painting the sky around it a morbid shade of blood-spatter red. Perhaps it was the light, the swell of heat in his head, or the rising tide of panic bubbling up inside him, but Link could have sworn there was a _face_ in the moon, the mare that pocked its surface forming eyes, a grinning, devilish mouth.

And it looked right at him.

He sank to his knees, as if in worship. “ _Oh my goddess…!”_ Link whimpered.

In his trance, he didn’t notice that he had company. The three Sheikah had skidded to a dead halt on the doorstep. Purah and Symin clung to each other. Maz Koshia’s gaze flew from the Blood Moon to Link. His stomach heaved at the sight of him, knelt and skeletal, his eyes as moony and vacant as the celestial body above.

Phantom Ganon stood immediately behind Link, his eye red and full. He knelt as well as he beheld his master. Had he the capacity to drool, his fangs would have dripped.

Cold, heavy hands slithered onto Link’s shoulders. “Almost time, Master…” Phantom Ganon purred in his ear.

A surge of raw desire wrung Link’s body from out of nowhere — it seized him like a riptide. He twisted away from Phantom Ganon, sucking in a sharp gasp through his teeth as his Malice thrashed on his arms, exploding with magenta light. While Link’s thickened blood roiled with disgust at the spirit’s proximity, something inside of him thrilled at the stimulation of his Malice. An involuntary grin cracked across his mouth.

He doubled over the split-second the notion dawned on him, endeavoring to snuff it out as fast as he could. It wasn’t right. He cried out, clamping his hands against his head, writhing against the hypnotic writhing of the poison smothering his arms.

While the spirit ogled at his handiwork, Maz Koshia threw himself to Link’s aid. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He stumbled forward, shoving past Phantom Ganon and crashing to his knees before Link. He laid his hands on Link’s chest, his back, pulling his frantic gaze to him.

“Link — ” the monk urged through his teeth. He cut off, breath hitching. He ducked his head, pinching his eyes shut as a swell of burning, nauseating pain surged through his core, throttling his insides. He bit back a scream bloating in his chest, pushing Link to his feet, stammering, “L-let’s get you inside. C’mon!”

Link nodded wildly, his breath surging. Half-dragging, half-shoving Link, Maz Koshia ushered them all back inside, even amidst the throes of agony crushing him from within. Despite his hobbling, he moved quickly, rushing Link back toward the lab before Phantom Ganon could stop him.

“HEY!” the spirit cried. “Get back here!” He stormed after them, chains swinging.

But they never made it into the lab. Link’s skull gave a sudden rush. His head lolled, his vision blurring. He tottered forward, a tremendous weight crashing upon his head — as if something were trying to pierce it and worm its way inside his skull.

His face split with blinding pain and gore, a jet of blood gushing out of his nose and spurting from his third eye. Link pinched all three eyes shut against it, crying out. But the eye on his forehead snapped open after a moment. It seemed to gain sentience, its glimmering golden iris darting here and there before slowly turning to gaze at the three Sheikah before it. They all froze beneath its fixated stare, as if it were… analyzing them.

Oblivious to it, Link swayed, clamping a hand over his nose and mouth. He turned his gaze, glistening with terror, on Maz Koshia. “S-something's wrong — something’s wrong!” he stammered. He lost strength in his knees, head swimming as he flopped over and grasped at the monk with bloody, shaking hands.

“Link — !” the monk choked, trying to catch him.

But Maz Koshia froze when a wrench of nausea wrung his gut. Something hot shot up his throat. He heaved, slapping a hand against his mouth, doubling over. Before Link’s searing mind could process what was happening, Maz Koshia had pivoted and broken into a staggered sprint for the backyard, turning the corner before being violently sick on the lawn.

Link’s heavy head snapped up. Purah started in her spot. Symin darted after the monk, crying out his name.

“Maz?!” Link cried, wobbling to his feet.

He tried to make a break for the monk, but Phantom Ganon appeared behind him, quickly seizing him by the shoulders. He whirled Link around to face him as easily as if he were a rag doll.

“Never mind him, Master,” the spirit dismissed, breathless and trembling with anticipation. He drew his eye, ablaze with excitement, into Link’s face, beaming, “Your training beckons. Come, to the beach! It’s time.”

The spirit tried to pull him along, but Link shook his head, grinding his heels into the grass. “No!” he refused, blinking out the gore flooding into his eyes. “No — I have to see if he’s okay!” He turned his head in Maz Koshia’s direction, squirming in the spirit’s grip. “Let me go! Maz!”

Phantom Ganon’s excitement instantly rotted at Link’s refusal. He shuddered, his eye flashing a venomous vermilion. “Oh, for the love of — !” Link’s brain sloshed in his skull, his chin hitting his chest as the spirit gave him a rough shake. “God, would you forget about that damn monk for ONE MINUTE?!”Phantom Ganon screamed. “He had his chance. It’s MY turn! We are going to train! NOW!”

He tried to drag Link off again, but Link adamantly held his ground. Incredibly, his strength matched Phantom Ganon’s, the pair wrestling on equal footing. A notion that had the spirit reeling for a moment.

“No! Let me go!” Link repeated, wrestling with the spirit.

But no matter his master’s squirming, the spirit refused to let go, to let the monk ruin this for him. To let Link deny himself this gift he was so ready to give him. “You’re MINE!” Phantom Ganon howled, boring his nails into Link’s skin as he thrashed, drawing blood. “MINE, YOU HEAR ME?!”

But Link wouldn’t stop his struggling. It was infuriating. Phantom Ganon gave him another violent shake, screaming, “STOP — FIGHTING ME!”

“NO!” Link roared.

Link somehow managed to free himself, rearing his arms back to shove Phantom Ganon off of him. But what was meant to be a shove mutated into a veritable hurricane of brutality. Obeying his blood-crazed fury, Link’s Malice gurgled and thickened, bulking his arms till they doubled in mass.

Link drew back his hulking weapons, propelling his Malice into Phantom Ganon’s chest with every shred of strength he could muster. His bones sparked brighter, seemingly bolstering his power. The spirit was launched backward in a split-second, nearly decapitated for the sheer force of it — he blasted through the front doors of the lab, barreling into the central table inside and rending it in two before he smashed into a bookcase at mach speed.

The very ground quaked in the wake of Link’s retaliation. Purah, the only other person nearby, turned to stone in his shadow, her face white as a sheet. Her breath died in her chest as a crazed cackle ripped out of Link.

Oh, goddess — that had felt _good._ Too good. It was _electrifying._ Sheer ecstasy pulsed through Link’s veins, his Malice nothing less than a supercharged drug in his system.

And part of him didn’t want it to stop.

But that rush stagnated when a tearful whimper crept into Link’s ears, rousing him from his high. He turned his wild-eyed gaze toward the source — to the little girl cowering at his feet, completely immobilized at the sight of his corrupted radiance.

He stiffened, his manic grin fading as he gazed into her tiny, shivering frame, her shimmering crimson eyes. It was a muddy crimson, not at all like the bloody light that bathed them from above, that enriched his very skin. There was no light in her eyes, no spark of amazement that should have been there at the sight of him.

Only fear. The sheer, soul-crushing fear of impending calamity now stared Link in the face.

Link’s mouth hung open, his stampeding heart stumbling in his chest. He sucked in a rattled gasp, slowly bringing his gaze around to the thick, pulsating poison smothering his arms. Any progress he had made with Maz Koshia was utterly wasted now. Malice slathered his skin, inches thick, thumping and curdling, glowing and writhing — like some kind of living, breathing mass of life. Some _creature._ And it was attached to him.

He had… enjoyed it. Dear goddess. He had _enjoyed_ it.

Link’s high rushed out of his body as if someone had sucked his soul out of him. His limbs rattled, his spine tingling. With a gut-churning retch, he tripped on his own feet and crashed to his back in the dirt. His breath began to surge in and out of his lungs in panicked, raspy draws. He curled into a foetal ball, clamping his heavy, sinewy arms around himself in pointless efforts to contain their throbbing.

“N-no — !” he rasped, his voice thick. Rocking himself, he shook his head robotically, wincing and writhing against the uncontrollable surging of his Malice. “Stop — please! S-stop — !”

Link was far too entrenched in his downward spiral to notice Phantom Ganon dig himself out of the wreckage of the lab. The spirit shook a book off of his head, his eye spinning. His gaze immediately zeroed in on the struggling form of Link outside.

Phantom Ganon sat for a split second, aghast at what Link had done to him. It was nothing short of perfection. Sheer, godlike perfection. With a shuddery gasp of delight, Phantom Ganon rose from the wreckage, summoning his spear.

“God, look at you…!” he breathed, his voice trembling with hunger. He ambled forward, never once pulling his gaze from his master. “You’re a masterpiece…!” With a giggle, he encouraged, “Yes, just like that, Master! Come on — the beach! My course is waiting for you…!”

He had just made it to the threshold of the door when something stopped him. At that moment, Symin and Maz Koshia rounded the corner outside. The monk draped himself over Symin’s shoulders, grasping his stomach. His face twisted against the scalding pain wracking his insides, a trickle of Malice ran out of the corner of the monk’s mouth and his nostrils. His throat burned as he gagged on the awful, acrid taste stinging his mouth.

But that was nothing compared to the unadulterated horror that throttled him when he caught sight of Link, crying and struggling on the ground. Maz Koshia stopped dead, his eyes widening.

He gaped at Link for a moment, breathless. “I can’t,” the monk breathed, shaking his head. “I can’t do this…!”

Something possessed Maz Koshia, then. Something he had never felt before. A righteous fire blazed in his chest, superseding the pain garroting him from the inside out. He abandoned Symin, throwing himself toward Link. He tumbled to his knees when he reached him, immediately slipping his hand beneath Link’s neck and raising his head.

Link’s tortured expression melted at the sight of the monk. “ _M-Maz…!”_ Link whimpered.

Maz Koshia cupped his other hand around Link’s cheek. “I’m here — I’m here, tell me what’s wrong,” he urged. “A-are you in pain?”

A heavy sob wracked Link’s body, his Malice churning. “No, Maz, it feels good,” he mewled, sniffling. “It feels _so good.”_ Hot tears streaming down his face, he shook his head, curling in on himself further, pleading, “I don’t want to do this! Please, don’t let me do this, please!”

Maz Koshia’s brows knit together. He shook his head. “I won’t,” he firmly vowed. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.” He took Link by the jaw with both hands. “I’ve made my decision. I cannot leave you to face this alone. I will travel with you, if you’ll have me.”

Link stopped cold, his jaw dropping. “R-really...?!” Link breathed, his eyes widening.

The monk stroked Link’s cheek, warming them both with the light of his eyes. He sighed, as if in relief. “To the ends of the earth.”

There was a split-second pause. Maz Koshia’s response hung in the deafening silence filling the air. Before Maz Koshia could brace himself, Link leapt up in a blur, throwing his arms around him and burying his face into his chest.

Link immediately broke down into joyous tears, soaking the monk’s bandages. “Thank you, Maz…” he sobbed, his voice muffled. “Thank you… Thank you...”

Maz Koshia froze in Link’s embrace for a moment. He gave a shaky gasp as goosebumps shot across his skin, his throat tightening. The monk didn’t hesitate to encircle his arms around Link, pulling him closer, pressing him into his chest. Link tightened his hold on him, squeezing him.

Maz Koshia’s petrified heart filled in his chest. Had he the ability to cry, he would have sobbed alongside Link. The monk closed his eyes, rocking them gently as he stroked Link’s back and ruffling his hair with his fingers.

“So much to see… So much I want to show you,” the monk breathed, his eyes sparkling. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow, hero. For Zora’s Domain. We’ll leave together.”

Link’s breath hitched as he gave a contented laugh. He curled his fingers into the monk’s skin, sniffling happily, “Together.”

The hilltop fell silent. Beautifully silent. Purah and Symin watched on, gazes wide, at the scene before them. Link and Maz Koshia held each other for what felt like a blissful eternity.

But Maz Koshia suddenly noticed something… amiss. Link was still clinging to him, with no signs of letting go. With the Malice still coating Link’s arms, the monk’s skin should have been smoking by that point beneath his hold. Maz Koshia had inadvertently braced himself for it, his back taut.

But... the monk quickly realized that he wasn’t in any pain. The air lacked the smell of singed flesh. Something wasn’t right.

With tremendous effort, the monk slowly pulled back, his mind stuck. His hands wandered to Link’s shoulders. Link’s _clean_ shoulders. Maz Koshia jolted, his eyes widening as his hands trailed down the smooth, transparent skin on Link’s arms.

His Malice had completely retreated.

The two of them immediately locked eyes. “Link…?” Maz Koshia marveled. A smile spread across his mouth. He gripped Link’s shoulders firmly, beaming upon him. “Y-you did it…! You did it! _That’s_ my boy!”

Weak, teary laughter stumbled out of Link as he beheld his vanished Malice. Maz Koshia, still agape at him, released a euphoric gasp, doubling over and covering his mouth with awe. He beamed upon Link, reaching out and cupping his cheek. Link cupped a hand over the monk’s hand, cradling his cheek in his rough palm. Maz Koshia released another awed sigh, brushing away the fresh tears leaking down Link’s bone mask.

“That’s my boy...” the monk repeated, breathless.

And for that one moment, everything was perfect.

Then a spear clattered to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy. Things escalated quickly there.   
> Gosh, this one was so much fun to put to pen. So intense! I hope I could capture a rising dread that finally - FINALLY- boiled over. But what will all this amount to? On a blood moon... nothing good. We'll just have to wait and see in the next chapter!  
> That blood moon introduction was so scary, I tell you. I tried to recapture that dread I felt when I first encountered the blood moon. I hope you felt it too. And I also hope you caught the little references to other games and such in this chapter! Phantom especially has some fun little references planned. If any of you eagle-eyed readers find them, let me know! Moreover, let's see who can crack the new message. ;) It's a fun one.  
> Before I go, how are we liking longer chapters? This one was the longest yet. Would you like me to shorten future updates? Let me know! I love hearing your feedback. Whether it be suggestions, predictions, or just a thought, I love hearing from you. Thank you so much for your readership and support. You mean the WORLD to me. Please stay safe and healthy out there.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I'll be seeing you in the next update... Hold onto your socks.


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